


Tell Me Everything

by magicgamble



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, It’s 1899 so everything is terrible, M/M, babies just dont know how to do this love thing, crutchie has a big old crush, crutchie went through some bad stuff at the refuge, i went with a classic jackcrutchie trope, im in jackcrutchie hell, sprace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-08-19 18:07:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 22,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8220163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicgamble/pseuds/magicgamble
Summary: Crutchie tries to cope with both his memories of the Refuge and his affection for Jack. His feelings, however, might not be as unrequited as he thinks.





	1. Chapter 1

Crutchie woke with a gasping start, his fingers digging into the blanket and his face wet and red from the touch of tears. The darkness of the lodging house made him think, for a moment, that he hadn't escaped his dream at all, and he couldn't seem to stop the scenes from flashing through his mind. 

 “Jack!” he cried, though he didn't know why. Jack wasn't at the refuge. He couldn't help. 

When he felt a hand on his shoulder, he jumped, his heart hammering and his breath catching. He squeezed his eyes closed. 

“Let me go,” he breathed, terrified and unable to bring his voice any louder.  

“Shhh, Crutchie, it's me.” 

Crutchie froze, though his breaths were still wheezing, and he looked around again, noticing the familiar shapes of the lodging house, and then the familiar face of Jack beside him.  

“Jack?” he whispered. 

Jack tried for a smile, but it quickly fell off his lips. “Yeah, kid, it's me. Scoot over, will ya?” 

Shaking, Crutchie moved over on the bed to give Jack some room. Jack slid in and pulled the covers up over the both of them. Their bodies pressed close together, Jack wrapped both arms around Crutchie and held him. 

“The other boys-” Crutchie began, but Jack shushed him, not complaining when Crutchie’s head fell on his chest. He smelled like soap and fresh newsprint. 

“The other boys is back asleep,” Jack assured him. “I think all you woke was Race.” 

Crutchie didn't say anything, just reminded himself not to waste this moment, this feeling of being wrapped up in bed with Jack. He felt almost guilty about it. It didn't mean the same thing to Jack, he knew that. To Jack, he was a friend, yes, but also a kid who needed looking after. Though Jack would chastise him for it, sometimes it was impossible not to feel like a burden. But Crutchie could pretend, for brief moments, that this was something else. Something he'd never have. “Jack,” he whispered. 

His voice vibrated through Jack’s chest, and Jack closed his eyes and sighed, resisting the urge to squeeze him closer.  

“Yeah?” 

“I'm sorry I woke you up. I didn't realize- I thought that I was still-“ 

Jack did tighten his grip now, as his chest constricted. “No, shh. Crutchie, it's okay. I know. I know.” 

Neither of them spoke for a minute, until Crutchie asked, “did you ever have nightmares? About the Refuge, or Snyder?” 

That was easy. He’d had plenty, but when he looked down at the boy beside him, all he could recall was the terrible fear of waking up after a dream in which Crutchie was gone. He’d dreamt horrible things. Crutchie screaming for him, being taken farther and farther away, no matter how long or fast Jack ran. Crutchie, shivering and starving in the Refuge while bars in the windows kept Jack from getting to him. Sometimes, in the midst of an otherwise mundane dream, Jack would find a familiar hat or a crutch in a pool of blood, and wake up in a sweat.  

“Yeah,” he answered, and there must've been something in his voice, because Crutchie glanced up, and then shifted so he was facing him.  

“Are you alright?” Crutchie asked, his voice soft, his body still curled up on Jack’s in the small bed.  

Jack didn't answer for a minute, making Crutchie worry that he might be seeing through him. Was he touching him too much? Was everything he felt plastered on his face? He’d cried Jack’s name in his sleep, for god’s sake. Surely Jack could guess- 

“I dreamed about you,” Jack admitted, closing his eyes briefly and hating that he could feel Crutchie moving away from him. 

“You- you did?” 

Jack shifted, removing his arms, not wanting him to feel uncomfortable. “Yeah. A lot, actually.” 

Quiet. 

“What about me?” Crutchie finally asked. His voice had been soft before, but now it sounded small.  

Jack took a deep breath through his nose. _Just tell him._ “Bad stuff, Crutch, it was- it was nothing you wanna know about.” 

“No, tell me,” Crutchie said, noticing the desperation in his own voice. He could've kicked himself. _Jack is your friend_ _. Your_ friend _,_ he repeated. _He cares about you. Nothing more._  

“No,” Jack shook his head, not seeming to notice Crutchie’s lapse. “I can't do it, kid. Not again. And you don't wanna hear none of that stuff. I'm not gonna be responsible for causing you any more pain.” 

“Jack-” Crutchie reached out a hand, placing it on Jack’s chest, but he quickly recoiled when Jack’s eyebrows scrunched together. “Sorry,” Crutchie fumbled, now hating that they were so close. Jack could probably hear how fast his heart was racing.  

"Are you... feeling better?" Jack asked.  

"Yes," Crutchie said, quickly. The tension between them was thick and unfamiliar.  

"Good," Jack said, shifting and then sitting up. "I'll see you in the morning."  

He stood, leaving half of Crutchie's body cold and the blankets in a twist. "Yeah," Crutchie said. "Goodnight."  

Jack didn't respond, and under the cover of darkness, Crutchie pressed his hands over his eyes. _Dammit._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave can tell that something isn't right between Crutchie and Jack, but when trouble strikes, he begins to suspect the depth of the situation.

Dave could tell something was wrong as soon as he arrived. Waiting for the gates to open, the newsies goofed around, shoving and betting and cursing and laughing. All but one.

Dave’s eyes went to Crutchie first. He was sitting on the curb, his eyes trained on the ground in front of him. He held his crutch in between his outstretched legs, and leaned his chin on it dismally.

“Hey,” Dave said, walking over and standing in front of him, blocking his blank gaze.

Crutchie blinked and looked up at Dave with a sad, slow smile. “Heya, Dave.”

It was getting cold out, and the chill was brushing up on Crutchie's pale skin, turning it pink. Dave wore a scarf today, and almost offered it to him. “What’s eating you?” he asked instead.

Crutchie stared for a moment longer, then dropped his eyes. “Nothing,” he said. “I’m great.”

He did not look great.

Dave sighed and took a seat beside him. “Not talking?”

Crutchie shrugged. “I’m good as new.”

“I can tell you’re lying, you know. I’ve noticed you being kind of… _flustered_ lately, and I don’t get why.” 

Crutchie’s eyes dashed over to Dave’s face for a brief moment, his cheeks suddenly flaring. Then Dave followed his gaze across the square, to a group of boys placing bets on who could hold his breath the longest: Race or Specs. Jack, at the back of the group, smiled weakly at the scene.

Dave swallowed, understanding a little better than he had before. He put his hand on Crutchie’s shoulder, but before he could say anything, Crutchie turned to him with false enthusiasm, almost all trace of his distress hidden.

“Where’s Les, anyway?” he asked. “I don’t see him.”

“Oh,” Dave sighed, feeling worse all of a sudden. “He woke up sick today. Threw up everywhere... trust me, you’re glad that Ma made him stay home.”

Crutchie’s eyebrows fell low. “Oh, jeez. I hope he feels better soon.”

“Yeah,” Dave said, as the gates opened and the Newsies rushed in to get their papers. “Me too.” He stood, then put his hand down for Crutchie, who took it and let himself get hauled up. Dave slapped him on the back. “Alright. Another day, eh, Crutchie?”

“Sure is,” the other boy responded.

When they arrived inside the gates and lined up to get their papers, two boys filed in behind them. Dave turned, and, not recognizing them, mentioned as much to Crutchie.

“Nah,” Crutchie replied. “I ain’t seen ‘em before, either.”

Dave thought about saying something to them, something to make them feel welcome, but he kept it in. _After they get their papes,_ he told himself. He didn’t want to come on too strong.

Crutchie and Dave stood in a comfortable silence, shuffling forward every minute or so when the line moved. The boys behind them had been talking, but Dave didn’t pay much attention until he felt Crutchie stiffen beside him.

Now listening, Dave heard the tail-end of a sentence that was hushed but still audible.

“-goddamn Crip, that’s why,” one of the boys behind them said.

Crutchie’s face reddened, and Dave put his hand on his arm. _Just wait a minute._

They listened.

“It ain’t fair, and that’s the truth. How is anyone supposed to do better than a kid who can’t even walk right?”

“He’s not _really_ crippled, Tom. He’s faking. It’s so people will feel sorry for him.”

“Son of a bitch.”

Crutchie turned, tearing his arm away from Dave. “You ain’t too good at whispering, you know that?”

They looked surprised at having been found out, but then they sneered. “Eavesdropping on us, Crip?”

Dave reached out a hand to stop Crutchie as he reared forward in anger. “Crutchie, wait,” he said, then stepped in front of him. “You two can’t just come in here and say things like that,” he said. “Why don’t you just get out of here?”

They were quiet for a minute, until one of them turned to the other and said, “this guy thinks he can tell us what to do, Tom. Ain’t that cute?”

“Yeah, real cute,” Tom agreed, cracking his knuckles. “It makes me wanna punch his teeth in.”

“Davey, let me-” Crutchie started, trying to get around him.

“I got this,” Dave lied, all while searching the square for Jack. “They ain’t so-”

He was about to say _tough_ , but that was before Crutchie maneuvered around him and punched the one named Tom in the nose.

“Oh, hell,” Dave muttered.

Tom wavered, and his nose was now bleeding. Other than that, however, the punch had only succeeded in making him mad. “You little shit!”

Suddenly, everyone seemed to be surrounding the four of them. Dave had once read that sharks could smell blood from a long way off. It was like everyone in the crowd was like that, showing up as soon as the blood did.

There wasn’t much time to explain the situation though, before Tom’s friend tackled Dave to the ground. Dave took one punch to the face, then shoved the boy off with little effort. It wasn’t quick enough, though. Crutchie fell down beside him, his arms quickly moving to surround his body. Dave hadn’t seen what happened, but he did look up in time to see Tom’s face take a pounding, courtesy of Jack’s fist.

“Jack-!” he tried, but it was no use. Everyone was chanting, yelling, as Jack took care of the newbies. It wasn’t long before they were both gone, running out into the street.

“Yeah, you better run!” Albert yelled.

“Get the hell out, creeps!” Mush added.

They shouted and cheered as Jack pushed his way through, kneeling down beside Dave and Crutchie. “You okay, Davey?” he asked.

Dave nodded. They both turned to look at Crutchie, who still lay on the ground, his arms wrapped around his torso. His eyes were closed tightly, and his small frame was heaving with the effort of trying to get air into his lungs.

“Oh, shit,” Jack muttered. “Get the wind knocked outta ya?”

With difficulty, Crutchie pushed himself up to a sitting position, nodding. Dave winced at the expression on his face. 

"Hey, you know, I think you mighta broken his nose," Jack tried. "He was bleedin' all over." 

Crutchie still didn't speak. He barely looked up.

"Hey, talk to me," Jack said, his eyebrows pushed together. The other boys were starting to take notice again, and when Crutchie did look up at them, there was something akin to anger in his eyes. Dave quickly turned back to Jack, who didn't seem to be paying attention to anything else besides Crutchie. 

"Can't," Crutchie wheezed, in response to Jack's request. "Gimme... a...minute." 

Jack waited, staring at him. 

Dave, seeing that this was all becoming very awkward, stood and said, "alright guys, give him some room, will ya? You got papes to sell, or what?" 

A ripple of reluctant assent swept through the crowd, and they eventually dispersed. Dave stood back, watching Jack watch Crutchie. There was _something_ in that look, but he wasn't positive what it was just yet.

"I'm fine," Crutchie finally said, glaring at Jack a bit. "I- I gotta hurry and get out there." 

"No, you can just-" 

"I said I'm fine!" Crutchie insisted, standing. He looked at both Dave and Jack for a moment, then he sucked in his bottom lip and limped away.

Dave shrugged, trying to normalize it all. "He's been kind of fidgety lately..." he offered. "It could be seasonal, you know. It's colder, and-" 

"Yeah, alright, Davey," Jack said, patting him on the shoulder. "I'll see ya later." 

"Yeah," Dave agreed, disappointed. As he watched Jack walk one way and Crutchie go the other, he couldn't help but frown, a growing unease building up inside of him. He'd thought the rest of the newsies would be able to cheer him up, but they seemed determined to invite him into problems of their own. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! <3  
> Comment/kudos if you liked it!
> 
> (Shameless plug:  
> Y'all follow me on tumblr at: akbroadway.tumblr.com !!!  
> It's *mostly* newsies related, but I also just really like musicals so anything goes!)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To keep his feelings hidden, Crutchie tries to keep his distance from Jack. That gets thrown out the window when Jack finds him on the rooftop and they're forced to reveal the secrets they've kept from each other.

Crutchie dangled his legs off the roof, watching the sun go down over the city. Without buildings to block the wind, cool air rushed past him in uncomfortable bursts. He shuddered, but it was better to be alone up here than down in the lodging house with everyone else. He had too many thoughts plaguing him. Ever since that night when Jack had climbed in bed with him, it had been difficult to keep his neutrality.

Pretending was so, so hard.

It was also terrifying to think of what would happen if he slipped up. If he couldn’t pretend that he didn’t love Jack, he couldn’t stay around him anymore. That was why, for now, Crutchie needed space. He needed to put down this sickness inside of him until there was nothing left that could betray him.

He didn’t know how long he sat up there, but suddenly, he got the sense that he wasn’t alone. His skin prickled, and for a frigid moment, he was terrified for his life. He should’ve told someone he was up here. Now, no one would know what happened to him if he was killed or kidnapped or-

A hand landed on his shoulder, and he jolted to the side, his heart hammering. Flashes of unwanted touches from men at the Refuge went through his head, but then he saw that it was only Jack. Innocently, a wash of warm, soothing relief came over him, just at seeing Jack’s face.  It quickly left when the relief turned to longing, reminding him why he had isolated himself on the roof in the first place.

“Oh, Jack,” he said. “What- what’re you doin’ up here?”

It was a ridiculous question, and they both knew that, but all Jack said was, “I was looking for you.”

“Me?” Crutchie repeated, hating himself for the tiny giddiness that came from feeling like he’d been missed. “What for?”

Jack sat down next to him, and Crutchie swallowed.

“I miss you, I guess,” Jack said, shrugging noncommittally.

“Well,” Crutchie said, “I’ve been here.”

Jack shook his head. “No, you ain’t been here, Crutchie. You been up _here_.” He tousled Crutchie’s hair, grinning slightly, but when Crutchie just stared back at him, the smile fell, and Jack coughed into his fist. “See?” he said quietly. “That’s what I mean. You ain’t exactly been yourself lately. Dave’s noticed, too. I just- I feel like maybe…” his eyes were darting all over the rooftops, and he shrugged again. He was scrunching his hat in his hands, despite the chill. “I feel like maybe it was me. Like maybe I did something to you. I just wish you’d tell me what it was, so I could stop going through every little thing I done, trying to figure it out.”

Crutchie nearly laughed. As if he was this way because _Jack_ had done something wrong, instead of the truth: that Crutchie was the one who was sick and broken. “No, you didn’t-” Crutchie started, but Jack interrupted immediately.

“Was it the other night?” he asked, his expression looking like he was poised to take a beating.

Crutchie cocked his head. “What do you mean?”

“When I,” Jack coughed again. “When I got in bed with you. I just- if I did anything that bothered you, or…”

“Oh hell, Jack,” Crutchie shook his head. “I’m the one who yelled for you in the middle of the night!”

_Shit._

Jack looked confused. “Yeah,” he agreed, but everything else about him said that he needed an explanation.

“I mean... what I mean is… didn’t that bother _you_?”

Jack’s confusion nearly turned to anger. “What? No! Why would you say that?”

“I-” Crutchie didn’t know what else to say. “I don’t know; I guess I thought…” he didn’t finish his sentence. He didn’t know how.

Before he could dart away, Jack put his hand on Crutchie’s knee and leaned forward. “What is going _on_ , Crutch? Is it the nightmares? Is it-” he sighed, the corners of his eyes creased with worry, “did they do things to you, at the Refuge?” he asked. “Did Snyder…?”

“Yes,” Crutchie breathed, and he felt Jack’s grip tighten. “Yeah, alright? But that’s not it.”

Jack didn’t look done with the subject, but he went ahead and asked, “then what is it? Just tell me. I can’t see you like this.”

“It’s you,” Crutchie said, and immediately thought about jumping off the building.

“I knew it was!” Jack said. “For god’s sakes, what did I do? I’m sorry, whatever it was. I’m sorry.”

“Jack, _stop_!” Crutchie snapped, and Jack took his hand away. “It’s _me_!” Crutchie said, feeling tears start to well up in his eyes, “I think I might be in love with you.”

Jack didn’t say anything for a long time. Then, just a soft, “what?”

Crutchie shook his head. He couldn’t look at him. “I know it’s wrong, and I’m so sorry. I never meant to- I didn’t-” He took a minute to catch his breath, then said, “I thought I could hide it, but lately it’s been so hard. And it’s even worse because you’re my best friend and I don’t want to leave you, ever, but I think I have to.” He chuckled, wiping his nose off on his sleeve. “Now I _know_ I have to. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lie to you, but I didn’t want anyone to know I’m sick.”

Crutchie finally looked over, and what he saw made him want to throw up from guilt. Jack sat forward, his head in his hands. His shoulders were tense.

“Oh my god, Jack, I’m so sorry,” Crutchie said, practically sobbing. “I’ll go. I understand. I’ll go.”

He had almost gotten up when Jack spoke. “I thought… _maybe,_ ” he said, slowly and deliberately. “But I just assumed it would be impossible for you to like me like that.”

Crutchie rubbed a hand across his cheek, reaching for his crutch so he could leave. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“No, wait!” Jack turned, suddenly sitting up straight and reaching to stop Crutchie. “For god’s sakes don’t go.”

Crutchie stopped, watching Jack. Would he hurt him? _No,_ a voice inside him immediately said. Jack was Jack, even now. And Jack would never do anything to hurt Crutchie.

“I’m not mad,” Jack said. “Hell, no, I’m not mad. I’m just a little surprised, is all.”

Crutchie waited, still confused.

“Oh my god, Crutchie, I like you too,” Jack said, like it should be obvious. “For a long time now.”  

Crutchie still stared.

“Did you hear what I said?” Jack asked, laughing a bit _. He’s lost it,_ Crutchie thought. _Either that, or I have._

“Say it again,” Crutchie said.

“I like you,” Jack repeated. “The way that you’re talking about. If you’re sick, then I am too.”

“But,” Crutchie paused. “But you like girls. You’re always-”

“I know, I know,” Jack conceded. “I do, but I like boys too. I like _you._ ”

Crutchie could not form words. As many times as he’d dreamt of this, fantasized about it, he’d never imagined himself being as speechless as he was right now.

Jack was still grinning, ear-to-ear. “Don’t you see what this means, kid?”

Crutchie was still trying to figure out if this was real. He shook his head.

Jack’s response- and Crutchie later admitted that he should’ve seen it coming- was to grab Crutchie’s shoulders, pull him in, and kiss him straight on the mouth. Crutchie was frozen, but he began to thaw as the sun dipped completely out of the sky, and Jack’s grip on his shoulders stayed firm.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crutchie, Jack, and Race decide to visit Les, who is still sick. Afterwards, Crutchie and Jack follow Race as he goes off to meet up with some "connections".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is 100% the longest fic I've ever written and I gotta be honest with you, I'm making it up as I go along, but I can tell you that when I started I knew for sure I was going to need some Sprace in here. So, this is that.

They were doing it again.

“Jack, what are _you_ doing here on a Saturday night?” Elmer jeered. “Surely you got somewhere else you could be.”

“Yeah,” Romeo said, raising his eyebrows suggestively. “Like with a special lady?”

They all laughed, shoving Jack’s shoulders playfully and making kissy faces at him. Jack chuckled, trying to ignore how annoyed he was. “Alright, alright,” he said. “Pick on someone else for a change, will ya? I don’t see Race gettin’ any flack.”

“Well who the hell would go out with _him_?” Mush asked, making the whole group of boys burst out laughing. Race rolled his eyes.

Crutchie, beside Jack, seemed to loosen up once the attention was on someone else. Jack understood. He’d never minded a good jab every once and a while, but now it was different. He had a million other things he’d rather be doing on a Saturday night than listening to the boys razz each other- one of which was kissing the face off of the kid beside him.

Under the table, he put his hand out to touch Crutchie’s knee. Crutchie looked over at Jack and smiled, and together, they stood. “We’re gonna go check on Davey and Les,” Jack said.

“Oh hey,” Mush piped up, “tell ‘em that we hope he’s feelin’ better, alright?”

“You got it, Mush,” Crutchie agreed.

“Uh…” Race suddenly stood, too. “I’m gonna go with them. I’ll see you jerks tomorrow, alright?”

“Tomorrow?” Buttons repeated. “You plannin’ on spending the night?”

Race’s cheeks flushed briefly, but he hid it by shoving Buttons’ head and saying, “I meant later, stupid.”

“Alright, come on, Race,” Jack urged. He had been hoping for some alone time with Crutchie, but he couldn’t exactly tell Race not to come. “Let’s go, already.”

The three boys walked outside into the icy street, already halfway regretting the decision to leave the warmth of the lodging house. The walk to the Jacobs’s wasn’t too far, and they spent it in silence, pressed close to each other.

Race had barely finished knocking when the door swung open, revealing a drawn and disheveled Mr. Jacobs. “Oh,” he paused, looking surprised to see them. “Hello, boys.”

“We came to see how Les is doin’,” Jack explained.

Mr. Jacobs sighed and was about to speak, when suddenly Davey appeared beside him. “Hey, uh… you should probably go,” he said.

“Go?” Crutchie repeated.

“Yeah, we just got here,” Race insisted.

“I know, and I appreciate that you came all this way, but there isn’t much you can do besides get sick.”

The boys shared a glance, and then pushed their way inside.

“Wait-!” Dave tried to stop them, but they hadn’t come over just to be told to leave.

“Listen, Dave,” Jack said, placing a hand on his shoulder, “we ain’t gonna leave here till we seen our little buddy Les, alright?”

Mr. Jacobs didn’t look like he had the energy to fight them on it. “He’s in the bedroom,” he said. “But please, be gentle with him.”

“And don’t get too close,” Davey said quietly, reluctantly leading them back to his brother.

From how Davey was acting, Jack had expected the worst, and he got it. Poor Les lay on the bed, the thick blanket covering him all the way up to his chin. His face was pale and he had dark purple crescents underneath his eyes. Mrs. Jacobs was asleep in the chair in the corner.

Les coughed, and Davey went and knelt beside him. “Hey, Les,” he said. “Jack, Crutchie, and Race are here to see you.”

Les coughed again, but opened his eyes and found the three boys standing at his bedside. He smiled weakly but said nothing.

“We just wanted you to know we’re thinking about you, kid,” Jack said. “All of us.”

“Yeah,” Crutchie nodded. “It ain’t the same without you.”

“For sure,” Race agreed.

Davey smiled at his friends, then at his little brother, pushing some hair away from his forehead. “Isn’t that nice, Les?” he prompted.

Les nodded, still smiling. It was so strange to see a smile on someone who was in such a bad state. When he spoke, it was more of a whisper. “I missed you,” he said.

“Aw, kid, we miss you, too,” Jack said earnestly, feeling like something was breaking inside of him. “Don’t think for one second that we haven’t been hoping that you’ll show up with your brother over here.”

“They like you better than me,” Davey joked.

Race chuckled. “Sure do.”  

“Alright boys,” Mr. Jacobs said, coming into the room. “Let’s not wear him out.”

“Mush says to feel better, Les,” Crutchie said, suddenly remembering.

Les coughed. “Thanks, Mush,” he said.

Dave stood up and led the boys back to the front door. “Thanks for seeing him,” he said. “He’s asked about you.” Jack hated the defeated look on his face. How was _he_ supposed to feel, if Davey looked like he’d already given up?

“Of course we’d come see him,” Jack said, clapping Dave on the shoulder and giving it a squeeze.

“He’ll get better; you’ll see.” Crutchie smiled.

Dave managed to smile back and thanked them again before they left.

Back in the hallway, they all prepared to return to the icy cold outdoors. “At least it’s not too far back home,” Crutchie offered, and Jack nodded, wishing he had another scarf or something to throw around him.

“Right,” Race said. “Well… I’ve got somewhere else I need to be.”

Adorably, Crutchie’s eyebrows scrunched up, and he asked, “where do ya have to go?”

“Don’t worry about it, Crutchie,” Race said, sticking a cigar in his mouth. “I gots lotsa connections, alright? And I gotta pay them visits every once in a while.”

“But it’s freezing tonight, Race,” Jack pointed out. “It ain’t worth it.”

Race looked up at him quickly, a small grin tugging on his lips. “Oh, it’s worth it.”

As they descended the stairs, both Crutchie and Jack tried to convince him to stay, but he just refused them. “Listen, fellas, I appreciate the concern, but I really got someplace to be.”

Jack finally sighed once they reached the door. “Alright. If you die, don’t expect to see me at your funeral.”

“Yeah, okay. Good one, Cowboy,” Race muttered, then waved to them as he walked back into the street.

Crutchie waited all of three seconds before saying, “we need to follow him.”

“What?” Jack asked incredulously.

“It’s dangerous out there so late.”

“Crutchie, we don’t need to follow him.”

Crutchie turned a withering look on Jack, proving how serious he was. “How would you feel if he got into trouble and we never saw him again?”

Jack rolled his eyes. “He can take care of himself.”

“No one can take care of themselves,” Crutchie countered. “Everyone needs more help than they’d admit.”

Jack moved on to another problem. “It’s cold out there,” he said. “And what about you? I know how your leg gets when it’s like this. I don’t want you to have any trouble.”

Crutchie was probably going for angry, but to Jack, it looked like he was pouting. “I can do it, Jack. I’m fine.”

Jack could see he wasn’t getting anywhere. “Fine,” he conceded. “But the minute I see you having a hard time, we’re going back.”

“Fine,” he grumbled.

Following Race was like following a drunk person. He would stop every once in a while to light his cigar or look up at the sky, and Jack and Crutchie would have to duck into doorways to avoid being caught. Then he would spin himself around a light pole or start humming, and Crutchie would send Jack a look, and Jack would have to shrug. Race looked like he was on his way to a date, not a meeting with one of his “connections”.

After about an hour, Jack noticed Crutchie starting to lag behind, so he walked slower to keep pace with him. “It’s strange to get to be alone, huh?” Jack whispered.

“Yeah,” Crutchie said. “I mean, it wouldn’t’ve felt that way before, but now…”

“Right,” Jack grinned. “It’s still kinda weird to me, ya know?”

“Not hidin’ anything?” Crutchie asked.

“Yeah,” Jack agreed, and because no one was on the street besides Race, a block ahead, he leaned over and kissed Crutchie’s cheek.

Crutchie smiled, but then his expression fell, and his eyebrows drew low. Jack’s stomach turned. “Hey, what is it?” he asked.

“Well, it ain’t that different, is it?” he asked.

“Sure it is,” Jack said. “Now I can do that and you won’t hate me for it.”

Crutchie chuckled. “I never woulda hated you for it. You know that. What I mean is… Jack, we’s still hidin’.”

Jack was silent for a moment. He was right. Of course he was right. They hadn’t told anyone, and Jack had learned how frustrating it was to not be able to act like a couple -even with their own friends- for fear of being found out. “But that’s the way it is,” he said. “There’s nothing we can do about it.”

“I know,” Crutchie admitted. “But we’s still hidin’.”

They didn’t say anything for a while after that, and Race was still going strong, like the chill didn’t bother him at all. “Crutchie,” Jack finally said. “We should head back.”

“No, we shouldn’t,” Crutchie said, but he didn’t look as convinced as he had when they’d first left. He looked exhausted, and Jack didn’t blame him. They had walked so far they were nearly in Brooklyn. Race had stopped on the sidewalk, happily smoking his cigar, and Jack got the feeling that they had walked all this way for nothing.

“Come on, Crutchie,” Jack urged, pulling on his arm. “We followed him a long way. He’s fine.”

Crutchie reluctantly nodded, but before they could skin off the way they’d come, someone else stepped up behind Race and grabbed him. Race jumped, and Jack pushed forward a few steps. Then, suddenly, he realized who it was. “It’s just Spot,” he whispered back to Crutchie, who nodded. “Well, hell,” Jack said. “Why didn’t he ask us if we wanted to come?”

Crutchie shrugged. “At least we know Race’ll be okay with-”

Crutchie trailed off as they watched Race, laughing, pull Spot in closer and kiss him hard on the lips. Spot’s hands came up on each side of Race’s face, and Race pushed Spot up against the wall.

Jack’s mouth hung open. _What the hell._

“Oh,” Crutchie breathed beside him. “Maybe that’s why we weren’t invited.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A concerned Jack forces Crutchie to confront what's really been bothering him.

Jack was in Crutchie's bed again, but this time, there'd been no nightmares. Not yet, at least. It was a long night, and Crutchie didn't like to fool himself into thinking they wouldn't come. They _usually_ came. Still, with Jack beside him, holding him, nightmares felt unlikely.  

"If they woke up now, and all saw us like this," Crutchie mused, "d'ya think they would know?"  

Jack shook his head, and his hair brushed against Crutchie's face. "They'd think we was trying to stay warm. That's what _I_ would think."  

"Yeah," Crutchie agreed. "That's a good thing to say, if it happens."  

Jack was quiet for a minute before he asked, "why do we bother hiding from them anyway? They like us fine."  

"But they might not if they knew."  

"I don’t know, Crutch... I think they'd still like us. I mean, we's still the same, just together."    

"What about Spot and Race?" Crutchie countered. "They haven't told anybody, either."  

Jack blew out a breath of disbelief. "That was not what I had been plannin' to see."  

"Me neither, but I guess it makes sense."  

"You think?"  

"Yeah, they seem good together."  

"I guess," Jack said. "But we's better."  

Crutchie smiled, and then sighed a bit when Jack kissed his nose. "Yeah," he agreed. "We's better."  

He fell asleep quickly after that, and Jack just held him while his breath evened out into a slow, steady rhythm. Jack didn't even want to think about the number of times he'd thought of how this might feel. Holding Crutchie felt like holding something precious- something  Jack would never let anyone take away from him. In sleep, he looked especially angelic. His small body was curled up for warmth, and his head rested on Jack's arm. His face was trapped in a smooth innocence that made Jack's heart jump. Still, lately there'd been a sort of sadness clinging to him that hadn't left once he'd confessed his feelings on the roof. Jack hadn't brought it up much, but it was there all the same, and he was fairly sure he knew what had caused it.  

Just thinking about it made him hold Crutchie a little tighter, and he kissed his forehead for good measure. Jack had spent enough time in the Refuge to know well that twisted men who were drunk on their own power liked to levy that power on those beneath them. That's what it was about, after all; not pleasure and certainly not some sick form of affection, but power over someone else. It didn't surprise Jack that Crutchie had been a target. They surely hadn't thought twice about what they were doing to the small crippled boy who was too hurt to fight back.  

 _It'll never happen again,_ he told himself. _The Refuge is gone. Snyder is gone._ _Crutchie_ _is right here._  

But that wasn't all the way true, and Jack had said as much that day on the roof. Crutchie spent a good portion of his time stuck in his own head, remembering, and Jack didn't know how to help. He could lie here and hold Crutchie all he wanted, but he couldn't fix whatever had been broken inside of him.  

Jack didn't know how long he lay there, content, but then Crutchie shifted in his arms, his peaceful expression shattering as his eyebrows drew low and his mouth bunched up in a frown. Jack watched him, hoping that it would pass and he'd resume his sleep, but it didn't. Instead of thrashing, Crutchie froze, his muscles tensed up and his face the picture of discomfort. Jack rubbed his hand over his arm, trying to soothe him, but then Crutchie's body started to shake. Jack sat up and leaned over him, trying to discern what was wrong. For a terrifying moment, he thought Crutchie might be sick with whatever Les had, but he quickly realized that it was actually silent sobs wracking through him. 

"Oh shit, Crutchie," Jack murmured, shaking his arm to wake him. "Wake up," he said. Crutchie just shied farther away from his touch, and Jack shook him harder. "It's a dream," he whispered.  

Crutchie gasped a bit as he woke, and his breathing came faster, but Jack was there, rubbing his arm and whispering, "it's me, Jack. I'm here. I got you." Crutchie's eyes quickly found Jack's, and he immediately threw his arms around him, burying his head in his chest. Jack laid both of them back down on the pillow, positioning himself so he was facing Crutchie. "Hey, it's alright now," he said. "You're okay."  

"I'm sorry," Crutchie sniffed, his words muffled by Jack's chest. They both spoke so softly that Jack wasn't worried about anyone waking up and overhearing. "I'm sorry."  

Jack shook his head. "Crutchie, how many times have I told you not to-"  

"What's wrong with me?" He asked, finally looking back up at Jack. His eyes were ringed in red. "I'm not even there anymore. It shouldn't matter."  

"There ain't nothing wrong with you," Jack insisted, anger rising up within him. "None of this is your fault, alright? You hear me?"  

Crutchie nodded unconvincingly. Jack sighed.  

"Crutchie, I- I know, alright? You've already said it, but I knew the minute you got back what they'd done to you."  

Crutchie was silent for a long while, and Jack wondered if he should've kept his mouth closed. He was probably just making it worse by bringing it up.  

"It was only a few times," Crutchie finally said. It had been so long that it could've been the start of a new conversation. "I knew it wasn't as much as some of the other boys, but we never talked about it."  

Jack pushed some hair away from Crutchie's forehead. "Yeah."  

"I don't know if I want to talk about it now, either." 

Jack nodded, swallowing a bit. "That's okay."  

"But, I just-" Crutchie shuddered. "Every time someone touches me, I-"  

Jack looked down at their intertwined bodies, and Crutchie quickly shook his head, grabbing Jack's arm. "No, no... not you, Jack. Don't go."  

"I'm not," Jack assured him, relieved that he wasn't part of the problem. "Don't worry, I'm not leaving."  

Crutchie breathed again, slowly, and then continued. "I just feel sick, almost. If someone comes up from behind, or grabs my arm, I just feel like it's one of them. Snyder or a guard or one of the men who got to pay to come in and pick which of us he wanted. They liked me for some reason. I don't know why."   

Jack bit on the inside of his cheek to keep from screaming. "How many times?" He asked, tense, and Crutchie looked up in confusion. 

"What?"  

"How many times?" Jack repeated, not knowing if it was a fair question. "You said it only happened a few times." 

"It doesn't matter, Jack," Crutchie uttered, closing his eyes for a moment. "Four."  

 _Four. "_ In just a few days," Jack said, half to himself.  

"I guess so," Crutchie whispered. "I guess."  

They were quiet again, but this time, Jack was the one who broke the silence. "They ain't gonna hurt you anymore," he whispered. "I figure you should get reminded."  

"Yeah," Crutchie whispered, shuddering a bit from the cold.  

"And you got me, alright? I ain't ever gonna forgive myself for letting you down before, but it won't happen again. I swear, kid, it _won't_."  

"It wasn't your fault," Crutchie whispered back. "But thanks anyway, Jack."  

 _How could it not be?_ Jack wondered, but Crutchie was yawning again, and he didn't want to keep him up with a debate that would only turn into an argument. Instead, he settled for kissing him for the third time that night, this time softly on the lips. Crutchie, content again, or about as content as Jack could see him getting, curled back up into Jack's side, slid one arm around his torso, and went to sleep.  

Jack stayed up for much longer, trying to figure out if he'd done the right thing. Crutchie was now sleeping again, but Jack was filled up with too many emotions to join him. Had he really helped? He wasn't sure, and Crutchie was too good of a pretender to let on the truth.  

"We'll get through this," Jack whispered, trying his best to sleep. "You and me, kid. We'll get through this."  


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SPRACE SPRACE SPRACE SPRACE

Race had been seeing Spot differently ever since the strike. It felt strange when he thought about how suddenly it had happened, and yet the feelings themselves weren't strange at all-  they were _right._

The truth was, Spot was easy to love. Race was convinced that the people who were scared of him said so partly because they knew it was what he wanted. Everybody wanted Spot Conlon’s approval. That was why Race had been so thrilled when Spot had taken a liking to him; asking for his opinion, laughing at his jokes, listening to his stories... It began purely as friendship, but somewhere along the way, Race started to notice things that he didn’t notice with the others, like the way Spot’s jaw twitched when he was annoyed, or how his laugh made everyone else join in.

Race had only just begun to realize what it all meant when Spot asked him over for the first time.

“Race, come here a sec, will ya?” he’d called. Race was heading to the lodging house, and Spot, leaning up against an alley wall, took him completely by surprise.

Race jumped, and then pretended like he hadn’t. Spot had a beauty that was disarmingly angelic, and, unprepared for it, Race’s voice was timid when he said, “hey, Spot.”

“Race,” Spot nodded. Race remembered that nod because he’d never seen Spot move so awkwardly. Everything Spot did looked easy, but that nod was strangely forced, as if, for the first time, he was _trying_.

“What’s going on?” Race asked, slowly walking over. It would be dark out soon, and he briefly wondered why Spot wasn’t at home yet.

“Well,” Spot said, “I was just in your neighborhood and thought I’d drop by.”

“Whatcha doin’ in the neighborhood?”

He shrugged. “Business.”

Race didn’t ask what that meant.                                                  

Spot pushed himself off the wall and took a few steps closer. They were exactly the same height. “What's the big idea anyway, Manhattan? Why you lookin’ at me so funny?”

Race didn't move. “I'm just wondering about how long it's gonna take you to get home tonight, is all.”

“Well…” Spot seemed to flounder, “who said I was going home anyway?”

“You wanna stay at the house tonight? I'm sure the boys won't mind.”

That was definitely a lie. Spot, no matter how much he'd helped out during the strike, would disrupt the whole feel of the place. It wasn't that they didn't like him, it was that, unlike Jack, he was a leader who seemed a little above the rest of them.

“Nah, I ain't gonna do that,” Spot said. “I got a place I can go.”

“Where?” Race asked, curious. Any insight into Spot’s life felt like striking gold.

Spot nodded down the road. “Come on, I'll show you.” He walked a few steps, then stopped, turning suddenly, looking almost nervous. “Unless you gots someplace else to be?”

Race shook his head quickly, catching up in a few strides. “No, no! I'm coming.”

The place Spot referred to turned out to be the abandoned top story of a building that had been partially torn down in a construction project and then left behind. “How the hell did you find this place, Spot?” Race asked as they climbed the shoddy stairs. Wind whistled through the holes in the structure, and sometimes, there were crevasses so large that Race could see all the way down to the sidewalk. Needless to say, he became more anxious as they climbed higher.

“I know where everything is,” Spot replied.

Race scoffed. “Maybe in Brooklyn. This is my turf.”

Spot turned, a mischievous smirk on his lips. “Come on, Race. Don't pretend that you got anyplace more wired than I do.”

Race grunted in disagreement. “You know what, Brooklyn…?” He started, and Spot just laughed.

“Come on,” he said, rounding the corner on one last flight of stairs. “Out of breath already?”

“Buzz off,” Race huffed.

“With a name like Race, I guess I thought you’d have more stamina.”

“I got plenty of stamina,” Race argued, not sure why he was blushing. “That was a terrible joke, by the way.”

Spot was waiting by a door on the top floor when Race finally shuffled up the last step. “So, uh… this is it,” Spot said.

“Alright,” Race waited.

Nodding, Spot took in a very deep breath before he touched the handle, his shoulders slumping when he let it out. After a second more, he pushed open the door, and Race followed him inside. 

It was not what Race had been expecting. He paused at the entry for a moment before he wandered farther inside.

“Not bad, eh?” Spot asked.

Race shook his head. The holes in the walls and the broken windows had been covered up by sheets or blankets or wood boards, giving the room a cozy feel. There was an old couch, and a table and chairs, and the floors were swept completely clean. In fact, everything was much tidier than the location of the room would suggest. The mismatched sheets in the windows filtered the light coming in from the sunset in a patchwork of color, giving Race the impression that the room itself might not be real. Like it was a dream. “What’s this?” Race asked. “Your home away from home?”

“Something like that,” Spot said, still hanging by the doorway. He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms as he watched Race admire the room. “So you like it?”

Race thought he detected a hint of desperation in that question, as if it mattered to Spot what the answer was. Likely, that was just wishful thinking. Spot didn’t need approval from anyone. “Do I like it?” Race repeated incredulously. “It’s like your own private penthouse.”

“Yeah, it is,” Spot agreed, grinning. “And you’re the first one to see it.”

Race’s chest did a sort of jig. “So, you did all this yourself?”

“No, I found it like this,” Spot sarcastically countered, taking a few steps forward. “Yes, Race, of course I did it.”

“For me?” the words were out of Race’s mouth before he could stop them. _Oh, hell,_ he thought as he watched Spot process the question. _You’re an idiot. As if he would-_

“Well, for us,” Spot replied, making Race's heart sound more like the heavy hooves of the horses at the track as they rounded the last turn. “I thought that, you know, we could have a place to split the difference.”

Race backed up, wondering if maybe it _was_ a dream. “Wait, I’m… confused. You want _us_ to have… a place?”

Spot’s face had started to fall, and he suddenly covered his mouth, rubbing down and then up through his hair. “Shit,” he cursed. “I thought- oh fuck.”

“What?” Race prompted. “Spot, what?”

Spot started pacing. Race didn’t know what to do. He’d never seen Spot so out of sorts before, and he doubted many people ever would. Spot groaned. “I thought you and me- you made it seem like we was…”

“Like we’s compatible?” Race offered.

“Well yeah, no shit, we’s compatible, you idiot. I mean more than that. Like-” suddenly, he stopped moving altogether, and turned to Race with something like fear in his expression. “Like nothing,” he said. “We ain’t nothing.”

“No, Spot! You was about to say-”

“I wasn’t gonna say anything, Race, and if I hear that you’ve been sayin’ anything different, I’ll pound your-”

“Aw, cool it, Spot!" Race burst. "Just shut up for one second. I ain’t afraid of you.”

Spot huffed angrily, then seemed to soften. “…you’re not?”

“No way,” Race said, taking note of how Spot’s chest expanded as his breathing slowed. “You ain’t at all what I expected, I gotta say.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Spot asked, trying to look angry. _Yeah, he’s definitely trying._

“Will ya stop doing that?” Race said. “I meant it in a good way.”

Spot sighed, and after a moment, replied, “you know, you ain’t that much like what I expected, either, Manhattan.”

Race didn’t say anything for a while, he just walked around the room, touching the furniture and the sheets and sort of enjoying the way Spot’s eyes followed him. “You was right,” he finally said.

“About what?”

“This is a pretty good way to split the difference.”

The sun was starting to go down outside, and the patchy lighting had receded, casting Spot’s face mostly in shadow. “You think?”

“Yeah,” Race said, finally stopping and turning in Spot’s direction. “And it’s pretty private.”

“That was the idea.”

“Well, I’m glad that’s outta the way,” Race said, and then Spot crossed the few steps between them. He pressed Race’s face between his palms and pulled him in, kissing him roughly on the lips.

Race made a startled sound at the back of his throat that gave Spot the confidence to push him back onto the couch. Race tipped over onto the pillows and smirked as Spot climbed on top of him, tearing the hat from Race’s head and tossing it to the ground. “How ‘bout now?” Spot teased. “Scared now?”

Race shook his head, grinning. “Try a little harder, Brooklyn.”

Spot chuckled and went in for another kiss.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A deeply upset Spot turns to the Manhattan newsies when Race lands himself in a heap of trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't write more than one chapter of fluff at a time, it seems.   
> Ugh.   
> Sorry, Race. Ily, I swear.

“Jack! Jack!” someone shook him awake, whispering loudly. Mush, looking desperate, stood above him, his chest heaving. Jack sat up quickly, and Crutchie, beside him, stirred and then followed suit. It was still dark, and Jack thought absently that he’d probably only been sleeping for an hour or two.

“What?” Jack asked. “What’s the matter?”

“It’s Spot Conlon!” Mush hissed. “He’s downstairs. You gotta come now.”

“Shit.” Jack jumped out of bed and darted after Mush. “What’s goin’ on?” he asked, remembering that the last time he’d seen Spot, he’d been kissing Race up against an alley wall.

Mush didn’t have time to respond before they were downstairs, and Spot was standing there, clutching the back of a chair so tightly that his knuckles were white. “Jacky,” he said, strained. He looked terrible. The skin below his left eye was bruised and swollen, and his white knuckles were split and bleeding- as was his chin.

Jack looked around, as if whoever had done this to Spot might be in the room with them. “Spot, you okay? What-”

“It’s Race,” Spot interrupted, and Jack’s blood froze.

“What do you mean?” he asked, quietly. “Where is he?”

“He’s gone, Jack. They got him.”

“Who got him?” Jack stepped closer, and then heard the familiar shuffling sound of Crutchie coming down the stairs behind him.

Spot barely looked up as Crutchie entered the scene. “Some guys,” he answered. “Big guys who I seen by the track before.”

Jack tried to refrain from screaming in frustration. Spot was being obnoxiously tight-lipped, but it was clear that he was shaken up. _Worse_ than shaken up. Terrified. “Spot, you gotta tell me what happened,” Jack said. “Come on, anything you remember.”

“I remember all of it,” Spot said quickly, his eyes flashing, giving a hint to the Spot who Jack knew. “I was walkin’ with him back to the-” he paused. “We was walkin’, and out of the alley these guys show up. They knew him- they knew Race. They say they need their money, and they’s tired of him dodging ‘em. He says- he says he’ll pay ‘em back when he can. That he’s got some prospects comin’ in. They said they’s tired of waitin’, and they grabbed him.”

“You just let them take-” Crutchie started, but then cowered at the look Spot shot him.

“I didn’t _let_ anyone do nothin’,” he snapped. “I was tryin’ to fight ‘em off, but there was three of ‘em. I got in a few hits, but…” he shook his head, taking in a large, shuddering breath. “They got him anyway. Hit him. Took him with ‘em. I don’t know where ‘cuz I was on the ground.” Jack shared a look with Mush and Crutchie. They had never, _ever_ seen Spot Conlon like this before. He sniffed. “I couldn’t follow, but I could still hear him. He called my name but I couldn’t get to him in time.” He wasn’t looking at Crutchie or Mush or Jack. Jack knew he was back there on the street, watching Race get taken away from him. A nightmare come to life.

“And you came to us?” Mush asked, voicing the question they were all thinking.

Spot looked up, and Jack swore that his eyes were watering. “You’re his family, right?” he asked. “You’d want to know if he was hurt.”

Jack’s insides twisted painfully. “That’s right,” he said. “We’s family.”

Crutchie stepped up beside Jack. His hair was still messy from sleep, his clothes were rumpled, and Jack just wanted to throw his arms around him and hold him until the sun came up. With difficulty, he kept his arms at his sides.

“What should we do?” Crutchie asked Spot. “We can’t let anything happen to Race.”

“No way,” Mush agreed.

“You said the guys hang around at the racetrack?” Jack asked.

Spot nodded. “I think so.”

“They’ve probably got him there, then.”

“But Jack,” Crutchie said, “what can we do about it? The guys involved in that kinda stuff are scary. This is way over our head.”

“I woulda taken care of them all myself, if I wasn’t so far from home,” Spot said, a little too aggressively. Jack got the feeling he was not appreciating Crutchie’s input. “Manhattan newsies was closer, so I came here.”

“Crutchie’s right though,” Jack said. “Could you even get the Brooklyn guys down here in time?”

He didn’t mention what they’d be in time for, but now everyone was clearly thinking about how serious this could be for Race. Normally, Jack would’ve killed for a headline reading: “Corpse of Delinquent Youth Found in Hudson River”, but it could very well be Race’s future if they didn’t hurry.

Spot shook his head. “That idiot,” he growled, slamming his hand on the back of the chair. “Why couldn’t he ever keep away from a bet?”

“He’s not dead,” Crutchie muttered, taking note of Spot’s tone. “We can still get him back.”

“We gotta,” Mush put in.

Spot kept quiet, and Jack was almost glad for it. He was too volatile right now to say anything helpful.

“Don’t worry, Spot,” Jack said, putting his hand on his shoulder. “We’s his family, and you can bet we’re gonna tell him just how big of an idiot he is.”

Spot shrugged out from under Jack’s touch, as expected, and grumbled, “I’m fine. He’s your friend, anyway.”

No one was fooled by that, but they gave Spot his space all the same.

Mush started back up the steps. “I’ll get the boys!”

“Yeah, wake ‘em all,” Jack said. “We got some soakin’ to do.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spot and the Manhattan newsies rush off to save Race from uncertain doom!!

The boys were up out of bed as soon as they heard what had happened. They crowded around downstairs, raring to leap out the door and run all the way to Race. Jack held up his hands to silence them, and they all shushed each other.

“Alright, listen up!” Jack said. “This is serious. Race landed himself in some trouble tonight.” Mumbling, whispering. “He got snatched by some guys from the track, but are we gonna stand for that?”

“No way!”

“Forget about it!”

“Never!”

“That’s right!” Jack said. “We ain’t gonna let Race down. Not now, not ever! Now who’s comin’ to bring him home?”

Everyone shouted their assent, fists raised.

“Hell yeah!” Jack agreed.

They stormed out of the lodging house, barely feeling the cold. Their blood was rushing- half from excitement and half from fear. Despite their best efforts, there was an air of uncertainty about the mission. What if there was no Race to save once they got there? What if their clubs and fists were met with guns?

Jack also noticed how the boys all left room around Spot. They were wary of him anyway; he was intimidating, for sure, but tonight, he was clearly unhinged. Add that to his eerie silence and beat-up face, and it was no wonder that everyone kept their distance.

It was a long walk to even get out of Manhattan, but by the time the Brooklyn bridge loomed over them, they were all exhausted. Their pace slowed a bit, and some faltered, but they never turned back. That was why they all froze when Spot said, “I can’t go any farther.”

Jack stopped. “Are you hurt? What’s wrong?”

“No, nothin’ like that,” Spot said, starting to back away from them. 

“What do you mean?” Crutchie asked. “You’re not gonna help Race?”

Spot’s expression was tight, without any hint of anger. “You guys go off without me.”

They watched, stunned, as Spot Conlon melted back into the streets of Brooklyn.

Everyone murmured amongst each other, and while more than a few guys said things like “he’s not one of us, not really. We can’t expect him to go after Race like he is,” Jack knew better. He’d seen Spot and Race, kissing each other on the street. He’d seen how Spot’s hands shook and his voice wobbled when he spoke about what had happened. He _knew_ Spot cared about Race, but he also knew that he couldn’t let this slow them down.

“Alright guys, let’s keep walking,” Jack called back, urging them forward. They all moved ahead, except for Crutchie, who stood glaring at the alley Spot had disappeared into. “Crutchie,” Jack said softly, touching his shoulder, “c’mon, we gotta keep going.”

“I don’t get it,” Crutchie said.

“I know. Neither do I. But we’s gotta-”

 “Was he scared of getting beat up again?” Crutchie asked. “I didn’t think Spot was afraid of anything, but that must be it.”

“I don’t know, kid.”

Crutchie looked like he was concentrating deeply when he said, hushed, “if it was you, I wouldn’t care what they did to me. I’d keep going, even if it meant getting beat up, or thrown back in the Refuge. It wouldn’t matter. Not if you needed me.”

Jack’s mouth fell open, but he quickly closed it. Noting that everyone had moved ahead, he grabbed Crutchie and drew him close, kissing the top of his head. “Dammit, Crutch,” he said. “You’s got a lot of nerve, you know that?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, how am I supposed to keep away from you now?”

Crutchie blushed, even visible in the night. “Right now, we’s got something more important to do," he said softly. 

That sobered Jack, and he nodded, reluctantly pulling away. They caught up to the other boys and continued along the frigid Brooklyn streets until the stands and flagpoles of the race track popped up ahead of them. There was a light on in the stables, spilling out through the crack in the double doors. The boys crouched together around the corner, breathing warm air into their hands and bouncing a bit with anticipation.

“Alright, listen up,” Jack said quietly. “I’m gonna go scope it out, see what’s going on. When I say so, I’ll give you the signal, and we’ll jump ‘em.”

“Yeah, let’s get ‘em, boys,” Albert said, receiving a couple of nods and even more shoves.

Jack stood and smiled encouragingly at Crutchie before staring away. As he neared the stable doors, he slowed, cupping his hands around his ear and listening through the crack. He heard voices, that was for sure, but it was impossible to know who they belonged to. He stepped back, looking for another way in. Working on a hazy memory, he turned the corner and grinned. A set of outside stairs led up to a balcony, and at the top of the balcony stood a door. Jack bounded up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and then tried the handle. Miraculously, it was unlocked, which Jack was grateful for. Any number of the boys were handy enough with locks to get it open, but that was an extra step that would take up time that Race didn’t have.

As soon as he stepped inside, Jack dropped to the floor. He hadn’t realized that the door would open to another balcony, overlooking the main room, and his heart hammered as he wondered if anyone below had spotted him. When nothing happened, he slowly relaxed.

Now that he was inside, the voices were clear and distinct. Jack crept up to the railing and looked down upon the scene below him.

“Fellas, what did I tell ya?” Race was saying. “There ain’t no _way_ a horse that size could possibly outrun-”

“Oh, listen to him!” someone laughed. “Thinkin’ he knows what he’s talkin’ about when all his _expert_ knowledge ever did is give him that black eye!" There was laughter, and Jack’s blood raged. Race was tied to a chair in the middle of a circle of boys older than the both of them. There were five in all, though at least two of them looked bored, like maybe they'd just had nothing better to do than tag along. Most of them were at least eighteen, while some were clearly in their twenties. Jack saw no guns, and sighed in relief. These were boys like the Delanceys, who would work whatever job as long as they got paid. They had no problem breaking strikes or carrying out threats. Jack once knew a kid in the Refuge who got three fingers cut off his left hand by thugs like these. Jack had felt bad for him, but everyone knew that you should never promise something you couldn’t deliver on. That was a lesson they would never let Race forget again, if they ever got him out of here.

“I gots plenty of knowledge!” Race argued. “I ain’t lasted this long on dumb luck, you know.”

“I hate to break it to you, kid, but that luck ran out. Now either you give us the money the boss is owed, or I’ll have to take it out of you myself.”

“Ha!” Race laughed, and they all paused.

“You think it’s funny, kid?”

“Well yeah,” he said. “You’ve been actin’ like you’s the leader, when clearly, it’s our brawny friend over there.”

The one who Race spoke to frowned, glancing at one of his pals. “Him?” he gestured back, and Race scoffed, not replying.

“Wait a minute, wait a minute.” One of the guys who hadn’t spoken yet stepped up, arms held out to prevent anyone from hitting Race until he’d had his say. “He meant me.”

“What?” one of the other guys said, and then it erupted. Race sat in the middle, barely hiding his smirk, as they argued over who was the natural leader of the group.

“He said brawny!” one of them yelled. “I’m the brawniest one here!”

“Oh shut up!”

Jack could’ve killed Race for how cocky he looked, but he needed to hurry. The thugs wouldn’t stay this dumb forever.

While they were distracted, Jack carefully made his way down the stairs, fearful with every step that they’d spot him and be on him faster than he could run. When he reached the floor, he looked up and saw Race smiling at him. The cocky little bastard nodded up at the thugs as if to say “ _Look what I did!”_ and Jack shot him a quick thumbs-up before slinking over to the double doors. Throwing them open, he yelled, “Alright! Come get ‘em!”

The thugs behind him froze in shock, completely unaware they’d had a guest, and then the boys flooded in, wielding baseball bats and throwing rocks and yelling at the tops of their lungs. The thugs stumbled back, looking more fearful than Jack had hoped for. Of course, he couldn’t really blame them. Mush and Buttons jumped on top of one of them, tackling him to the ground. Crutchie and Specs took turns whacking another one, and while they were occupied, Jack went over to Race.

“Hey, you idiot,” Jack greeted him.

Race smirked, but his expression quickly fell, and he asked, “is Spot-”

“He’s fine,” Jack said, and watched as the relief visibly changed him. His shoulders eased up, his chest heaved, and he leaned back against the chair, sighing.

“Hell,” he uttered. “I didn’t know what to think.”

“Yeah,” Jack agreed, struggling to untie the ropes keeping him in the chair. “You shoulda seen him when-”

He suddenly stopped talking, because somehow, all the other noise in the room had ceased. When he looked up to see why, his breath caught.

One of the thugs had Crutchie looped through his arm, a gun pointed to his head.

“Everyone stop!” the thug shouted, even though everyone already had. Crutchie’s eyes were closed, and he clutched the man’s arm with both hands. He looked terrified.

Jack stood, and the man pushed the gun into Crutchie’s hair. “Don’t move! I’ll do it!”

Jack slowly raised his hands. He thought he might throw up. He hadn’t seen any guns. Where had this one come from? How could he have missed it?

_Shit._

He’d been confident that the worst was over, but now he was facing his greatest fear. The other boys all stared at Crutchie, wide-eyed, and then glanced at Jack, whose head was rushing so loudly that he couldn’t even begin to come up with a plan. His mind felt just as frozen as the rest of him; if asked, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to form a coherent sentence.

“Everyone, put down your weapons,” the thug with the gun ordered. His hand was shaking. His eyes darted between the newsies like _he_ was an inch away from losing his life, instead of Crutchie. Jack felt no pity for him.

Only a few of the boys even had weapons to drop, but they slowly complied.

“Alright,” the thug said, “now, everyone go stand-”

“Look out!” someone shouted, and suddenly, the thug dropped his hand to his side, released Crutchie, and fell forward.

Spot Conlon stood behind him, a proud smirk on his angelic face and a baseball bat slung over one shoulder. “I heard there was some trouble,” he said, and then all hell broke loose.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spot and the Brooklyn newsies come to the rescue, and Crutchie remembers one of his first moments in the Refuge.

The Brooklyn newsies poured down from the balcony. They fought back like they had at the strike, not quitting until all the thugs fled the stable, holding broken noses, sprained shoulders, or their unconscious friends, and surely wondering how such a routine night had gone so horribly wrong.

The newsies- both Manhattan and Brooklyn- cheered, congratulating each other on a job well done. Jack moved forward through all of them until he reached Crutchie, who still looked a little pale from his brush with danger.

“Crutchie-” he started.

“Jack, it’s fine,” Crutchie said, looking nervous, but Jack didn’t care. He crushed Crutchie close and held him until he was sure that he wasn’t going anywhere.

Jack sighed, shaking his head a bit. “Could- could you just tell me you’re okay? So’s I could hear it?”

“Dammit, Jack,” Crutchie muttered. “I’m okay. I swear I’m okay.”

“Yeah,” Jack breathed, making himself believe it. “Everything’s fine.”

Crutchie seemed to soften, and then he wrapped his arms around Jack, too. “Don't worry, Jack. We're okay.”

Jack pulled back, overwhelmed with relief. Spot Conlon, the bastard, had shown up just in time.

He turned to look for Spot and found him by Race, speaking to him in hushed tones with his hands on his shoulders. Jack wasn't sure if anyone else could see it, but there was a tension running across that touch, as if the space between them, that they couldn't cross, was electrified. He suddenly hoped that no one had thought twice about how long he’d just held Crutchie. He hadn’t been very cautious about that kind of thing ever since things had changed for them, because why would he be? Everyone knew they were best friends. He sensed it was different for Race and Spot, though. They hadn’t been friends nearly as long, and they were both so… _tough._ Jack guessed that was the right word, though he’d personally never thought physical affection should be associated with a lack of strength. Still, he knew that if Spot ran and threw Race into a hug, it would be both a spectacle and cause for the Brooklyn newsies to question him. Jack looked around at his friends, for the first time truly considering that Crutchie might have been right- maybe they wouldn’t still like him if they knew.

“Race, you damn _idiot_!” Specs shouted, and Spot dropped his hands from Race’s shoulders, moving back so the Manhattan newsies could surround him.

“You made me get outta bed!”

“What were you thinking?”

“I coulda loaned you some money,” Buttons said adamantly.

Race scoffed. “What money?”

Buttons reached into his pocket and pulled out a single penny, making everyone laugh.

“Yeah,” Race grinned. “I knew I shoulda come to you first.”

Spot watched the exchange with a smirk on his lips. His arms were crossed over his chest, and Jack couldn't help but wonder if it was to hold himself together.

Jack latched his arm around Crutchie’s shoulders, partly because he still felt anxious, but also because, while Spot and Race were separated by a throng of excitable newsies, Crutchie was right here, beside him. He ought to take advantage of every opportunity he could.

“I guess we did it,” Crutchie said quietly, a small smile on his lips.

Jack automatically brightened. He’d missed Crutchie’s smile; it was so rarely there anymore. “Yeah, I guess we did,” he agreed.

Crutchie shrugged a little bit. “I just like that we all did something good together.”

“Yeah. We got him back. He may be a stupid son of a bitch, but he’s ours.”

Crutchie chuckled, his shoulders shaking. “I’m glad we got him, anyway. We got ourselves a pretty good group, don’tcha think?”

Jack nodded, though his mind was flashing back to what he’d just thought about them: that they might not be such a good group if they knew everything Jack wanted to tell them. “Yeah,” he said anyway, as Spot watched Race with an air of false indifference. “We gots ourselves a good group.”

xxxxx

On the way home, Crutchie thought about the Refuge again. It wasn't like he ever tried to, or wanted sympathy. In fact, it was the exact opposite. Crutchie hated pity. Unfortunately, it had always been given to him, which was frustrating, when he was trying to prove that he could make it on his own. And he always had, until the Refuge.

Maybe that was why it haunted him.

At the Refuge, he’d been helpless in more ways than one. Being a kid on the streets, he'd never had to comply with such harsh authority before. The only choices he’d had were to obey and scrape by, or fight back and get a beating. Oddly enough, he hardly remembered being taken in. His memories always began that night, as he sat on one of the many bottom bunks in the large room he'd been put up in.

He’d tried to think about something good, but it was proving to be harder than he'd hoped.

 _Jack always cheers you up_ , he thought, and then immediately wished he hadn't. He leaned back, closing his eyes as his head thudded softly against the wall. _Jack_.

Jack had been so brave out there when the strike breakers had shown up. They all had. Race and Finch and Specs and even Dave. And what had Crutchie done? Gotten himself caught and beaten and thrown in the damn refuge. Jack would've escaped by now.

 _No_ , Crutchie thought. _Jack would never have been caught_.

"Hey, new kid," a voice called. The person who it belonged to came and sat down beside Crutchie on the bunk, looking him up and down with distaste. "You're stainin' the sheets."

Crutchie didn't have the energy to argue that the sheets were already too far gone for a little blood to make much difference. "Sorry," he said, shrugging a bit.

The kid frowned. "What the hell happened to you, anyway? You put up a fight?"

Crutchie swallowed, thinking again how useless he'd been at the strike. "Kind of."

"Whaddya mean, kind of?" the kid pressured. When Crutchie, who was exhausted, took too long to respond, the kid sat forward and aggressively said, "hey, newbie. You think you're too good to talk to me or somethin'? I'm just bein' hospitable!"

Crutchie turned to him slowly, and was about to speak, when a young boy ran up in front of them. "Hey, Gimp!" He panted excitedly. "Your name Crutchie?"

Crutchie nodded hesitantly, wondering what all the excitement was about. "Yeah."

The boy's eyes brightened. "Youse got a visitor at the window! Better hurry before he gets caught."

"Who is it?" the kid next to Crutchie asked.

The boy smiled. "Jack Kelly."

Crutchie's heart sped up a bit. The kid on the bed's mouth fell open. "Jack Kelly came to see _him_?"

Crutchie tried to get his bearings. He guessed he should've known one of the boys would show up, but he'd been fairly depressed for a few hours, and hadn't had much time to think about it. He looked like shit, but figured that Jack and the others probably did too- and it wasn't like Jack would mind. Jack would probably just be glad to see him. The thought almost made Crutchie smile.

"Well come on," the boy urged, and he pulled Crutchie's arm while trying to haul him up.

Immediately, pain spiked down Crutchie's shoulder, and he let loose a surprised cry.

The boy's eyes widened, and he let Crutchie go as he stepped back. "Sorry. I guess youse really hurt, huh?"

Crutchie didn't respond. He wasn't going to let a little pain keep him from seeing Jack, who had walked forever and a day to get here.

Gritting his teeth, he tried to stand, but his legs, even with help from his crutch, buckled underneath him. He fell forward onto the hard floor and practically crumpled, holding his side and trying not to cry in front of these boys.

"Shit!" the kid said, leaning down over Crutchie. "They roughed him up real bad. Go tell Jack that he's gonna have to come back another time."

The boy's feet padded on the floor as he ran off, and Crutchie struggled to sit up.

"No," he said, not caring that it sounded like a whine. "No, I -I gotta see Jack."

"You can't," the kid said. "Not like this, at least."

"But..." Crutchie trailed off, not sure what else to say. He wanted to see Jack. Needed to. Maybe it was because he had only now realized there would be no stargazing on the rooftop for a while. He always had Jack to talk to, and not getting him tonight, and then all the other nights after that, made Crutchie feel like he was suffocating. He looked up at the dark, dirty, and cramped space around him, and broke.

He burst out in a sob, immediately trying to stop. He couldn't let them see how torn up he really was. If they saw him as weak, that was just how he'd get treated.

Instead, the kid, who was clearly seeing Crutchie's effort not to cry, patted him on the shoulder gently. "Hey, he'll be back. Don't worry about it." Crutchie sniffed, thinking how funny it was that people always told you not to worry in the most worrisome situations. "Come on,," the kid continued, "unless you plan on sleepin' on the floor, let's get you back up in bed."

Crutchie looked up at the kid, and after a moment, he nodded, cringing as they got him back to a sitting position, and then back onto the lumpy bed.

The boy from before ran back in just as Crutchie leaned back again.

"Jack's gone now," he reported, "but he wanted me to tell you that they's plannin' on how to get you out, and that Specs is gonna be by tomorrow."

Crutchie's chest tumbled, and he nodded, wishing he was alone so he wouldn't have to hold in all this emotion that wanted to come out.

The boy wasn't done. “And he says- somethin’ about a rooftop. How it ain't the same without ya. I don't know; I wasn’t followin’.”

The kid looked at Crutchie curiously, surely still wondering how such a pathetic figure could be deserving of a visit from the famous Jack Kelly.

Crutchie swallowed, choked up by the fact that Jack had been thinking the same thing he had: that nothing felt right without the other. “Great,” he managed, curling up on his side and attempting to control his breathing. “Thanks.”

The kid and the boy must have exchanged looks, because it was a moment before Crutchie heard feet padding away.

 _You’ll be fine,_ Crutchie told himself. _Jack’s gonna fix everything, just like always. You’ll be fine._


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Race worries about his and Spot's future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wellll here's some more Sprace! Don't worry, I didn't forget about them. :)

“Are you feeling okay?” Spot asked Race for the third time in as many minutes. To his credit, he’d varied his word choice some. The first time it was, “do you feel as bad as you look, you idiot?” and the second time, it had been, “your face is still kinda purple, you know.”

At least he was working on it.

“Spot, I swear to god,” Race muttered. “How many times do I gotta tell you, I’m fine?”

Spot shifted. It had been almost two days since the mess Race had gotten into, and while Spot and the Brooklyn newsies had left for home after the fight, Spot hadn’t been able to stay away. The next night, when Race was coming into the lodging house, Spot was outside waiting for him. They’d talked, Spot explaining that he couldn’t stay the night; he’d just wanted to see how Race was doing.

Upon hearing that, Race had felt both angry and weak at the knees. Spot had no business coming all the way to Manhattan for no other reason than a ten-minute check-up, and yet, Race was glad he had. They’d had no time alone together after the trauma on Saturday night, and ever since, Race had wanted to place his hands on Spot’s arms, his cheeks, his chest- just to make sure he was still there. He’d gotten that chance, however brief it was. Now it was the next night, Spot was back, and they were in their “penthouse” again. Spot traced lazy circles on Race’s arm with his finger as they sat curled up on the sofa.

“I know what you said,” Spot responded to Race’s insistence that he was fine. “But I keep not believin’ you.”

“That doesn’t sound like my problem.”

Spot chuckled, which made Race grin.

“But really,” Spot said, after a minute of silence, “I feel like somethin’s been botherin’ you.”  

“Nothin’. I’m really fine, alright?”

Spot said nothing, but he stopped drawing on Race’s arm, and he became colder, somehow. His limbs went stiff, and Race sighed, sitting up and facing him. “Why won’t you just let it be over? Yes, I was dumb, alright? Yes, I got in some trouble. Yes, they roughed me up.”

Spot’s eyes flicked to the ugly purple-and-green bruise over Race’s eye, his jaw twitching a bit as he did.

“That’s all true,” Race continued. “And I’m sorry, alright? I caused a lot of trouble for a lot of people, including you. You got roughed up too, and-” Race swallowed. “And I’m sorry, Spot. I was scared. Is that what you wanna hear? I was scared that maybe you was gonna get killed or something, and I couldn’t do anything about it.” His voice was louder, his breaths quicker. “No, not even just that. I was scared that you was gettin’ hurt, and it was because of me.”

Spot was staring at him, stoic, his expression revealing almost nothing. Race went on.

“I just- I’m really sorry. First thing I did was ask Jack if you were okay. When I saw him up on the balcony, I knew he must’ve found out from you, so I knew you was alive, but-” he shrugged. “I was still scared. I guess… I guess I still am.”

“What are you still scared of?” Spot asked. His reaction to all of this was very different than Race would have expected. Then again, he’d said it himself, hadn’t he? Spot wasn’t much like what he thought he would be.

Race took a breath before answering. “I’m afraid that I’m gonna do it again.”

Spot sighed, seeming to lose interest. “Race, didn’t you learn your goddamn lesson-”

“No, no,” Race hastened, “I mean that someone is gonna find out about… about this,” he gestured to the room around them. “And us. If they find out-”

“No one’s gonna find out.”

“If they do-”

“They won’t, Race.”

“Spot, listen to me!” Race demanded. “If someone finds out, they could hurt you, and it would be because you’re with me. I would be the reason.”

“What do you want me to say?” Spot asked, a mixture of anger and desperation. “Do you want me to say that I wouldn’t care? That I’d _welcome the challenge_? Because that just ain’t true! Truth is, I’m terrified of someone findin’ out, too. You know why? Because I know for a fact that a few of my boys would have it in them to kick me out of the newsies for good. Everything I built, everything I worked up- if people found out about _this,_ ” he gestured between them, “it would all be over for me.”

Race’s chest panged as he thought about what he might’ve just done. Had he pushed Spot away? Was Spot done with him?  “What are you sayin’, Spot?” he asked.

“I’m sayin’ that it ain’t worth it to think like that,” Spot replied, a bit softer. “Race, listen. Don’t you think I’ve thought the same exact thing about you? What if somethin’ happened to _you_? Hell, I was the one who did all this,” he waved his hand. “I was the one who went out on a limb ‘cause I thought there was fruit. I took a chance on you, Race. And I ain’t about to throw that all away ‘cause we get a little scared. There ain’t no use pretending to be something we’re not.”

Race considered this. “I don’t think I could go back to just being friends,” he admitted.

“Me neither.”

“But I don’t want to not see you, either.”

“Exactly.”

Race smiled a bit, beginning to feel like it was Spot and Race against the world. He didn’t hate the sound of that. “So I guess that means we’s stuck with each other.”

“You better believe it,” Spot said, pulling Race in until their noses were nearly touching. “I ain’t gonna let you go so easy.”

“That’s alright with me,” Race said, and initiated the kiss that led to a hundred others that night, where they were safe and together and perfectly happy.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tbh all I have to say is buckle up!!  
> I went for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (This one's for you, Ostrich On A Rampage!)

It was nearly two weeks later when Crutchie came home with the first bruise.

They were on the rooftop, though it was still very cold, and Jack happened upon it as he kissed his way down Crutchie’s neck. Crutchie flinched, and Jack pulled back, wondering what was wrong. Quickly, Crutchie pulled him back in and kissed him, and Jack forgot all about it until that night in bed, when he noticed the purple bruise on Crutchie’s collarbone. He asked him about it the next morning.

“Oh, I ran into the doorframe downstairs,” Crutchie said, rolling his eyes. “Wasn’t lookin’ where I was going.”

Jack smiled back. “Hey,” he recalled, “remember when Mush slipped on the stairs and hurt his backside so badly he couldn’t even sit down?”

“You shouldn’t joke about that,” Crutchie said, but he was laughing.

The second time was only a few days after that. Crutchie came back from selling a little later than he usually did.

“Hey, Crutchie, how’d you do today?” Finch asked as Crutchie came through the door. A group of boys was sitting around downstairs, talking, and Crutchie’s late appearance caught their attention.

“Oh, not too bad,” Crutchie said, smiling quickly as he sat down at the table with them.

“Jeez, kid, you’re sweatin’ like hell,” Race said. “Here, take off your-” he was reaching for Crutchie’s scarf, (which an insistent Davey had let him borrow that morning) when Crutchie moved back, shoving Race’s hand away.

They all stared at him, waiting for an explanation for the strange behavior. “Uh… sorry?” Race tried. “I’ll let you do it yourself.”

“No… uh…” Crutchie faltered, his cheeks turning even redder. “Sorry, Race. I just-” Finally, he sighed, and took off the scarf. A quickly-blackening bruise jumped out at them from his jaw.

Jack’s chair slid out as he leaned forward. “What the hell happened?”

Crutchie held out his hands, smiling. “Alright, you got me, okay? I just thought I’d spare myself the embarrassment, but I guess not. I was walkin’ back, and the sidewalk got a little slick over by the deli, what with the ice, and I slipped. That’s all.” The boys looked between themselves, clearly skeptical, until Crutchie laughed. “Fellas, I swear it’s the truth. Don’t we all know I’s got a habit of being clumsy?”

They started to lighten up, shrugging and chuckling along with him.

“So you’re okay?” Finch asked, and Crutchie nodded.

“I’m great. Now what was you’se all talkin’ about before I interrupted?”

They quickly filled him in, and he went the rest of the evening acting as if nothing had ever happened. That night, Jack noticed that he had another nightmare. It was the first one in a week.

The third time, everything broke down. It was mid December, and Crutchie was changing his shirt in the morning, facing the wall. Jack snuck up behind him, roughhousing. He picked him up and spun him around, but Crutchie wasn’t having any of it.

“Jack, _Jack_ put me _down_!” he demanded, lashing out until Jack complied. Before he could turn around again, Jack caught a glimpse of a large, red welt on his uncovered stomach.

“Hey, what-”

“Don’t scare me like that,” Crutchie said, his eyes huge and his chest heaving with labored breaths.

Jack wanted to kick himself.

 _I just feel sick, almost,_ Crutchie had told him. _If someone comes up from behind, or grabs my arm, I just feel like it's one of them._

“Oh shit, Crutch, I’m so sorry,” Jack said. Most of the other boys had already headed down for the day, so besides Race and Specs, they were alone.

Crutchie didn’t say anything, but his shoulders were tense as he put on his shirt.

“Crutchie-” Jack caught his arm as he started to leave, and then quickly released it. “I’m sorry,” he said again, softly. “I forgot, for a second. I’m so sorry.”

Crutchie didn’t look alright. “Well, it’s real convenient for you to get to forget things, ain’t it, Jack?” he said.

Jack froze. “I said I’m sorry-”

“Forget it,” Crutchie snapped, and then he huffed away.

Jack stared after him as he limped down the stairs. Race and Specs had gone quiet.

“Is he alright?” Specs asked.

Jack shook himself back into reality and shrugged, trying to dissuade them from believing that it was as serious as it looked. “He’ll be fine,” he said, without much conviction. “We’ve been getting on each other’s nerves lately, that’s all.”

It wasn’t true, and Race shot Specs a confused look. Clearly, they had been getting along better than ever before. Jack knew that someone besides Mush must’ve seen how now, they slept in the same bed almost every night. Neither Jack nor Crutchie had said anything, and Jack was grateful that if the boys thought anything of it, they kept their assumptions to themselves.

Jack, who was the last one out of the lodging house for the first time in what felt like forever, missed the morning bell, and when he got to the square, Crutchie was already gone.

“Dammit,” Jack muttered. He’d wanted to reconcile. Crutchie’s words kept bouncing around in his head, which forced him to come to terms with the fact that he hadn’t been doing as good a job as he’d thought of being understanding. The truth was, Jack _could_ forget things like triggering Crutchie’s fears by jumping him like he had today, but Crutchie never got that luxury. He never got to just _forget_ about all that he’d been through. Jack hadn’t quite thought of it like that until now. Still, there was a grudging part of him that thought Crutchie could have handled the situation a little bit better. Surely Crutchie knew that Jack would never have intentionally harmed him, right?

And then there was the matter of that welt he’d seen on Crutchie’s stomach. First the one on his chest, then the jaw, now this? His breath quickened. He needed to find Crutchie. He’d sell with him, today. Screw his regular spot. Jack needed to apologize, hope for the best, and confront him about what exactly was going on. He swore to god, if the Delanceys were beating on him-

“Jack!” Davey’s voice stopped him. Jack turned and Davey was waving, trying to get him to come over.

“Sorry, Dave!” Jack called back. “I’m tryin’ to find Crutchie.”

“Oh,” Dave jogged up. He looked to be in a good mood. Les was finally doing better, and that had brightened everyone’s spirits. He hadn’t yet made it out to selling newspapers again, but Jack had visited the Jacobses not too long ago, and Les had been out of bed and talking to him the whole time. “You’re looking for Crutchie?” Davey asked. “I think he said he was going to hang around Water Street today.”

“Water Street?” Jack repeated. “What the hell is he doing over there?”

“He’s been changing his spot a lot lately,” Dave replied. “Yesterday my ma said she saw him down by our place.”

“He told me he was going to Central Park yesterday,” Jack said. “Like he has been.”

Dave paused, then crossed his arms. “Interesting. Why would he lie?”

“Why does he keep changing his spot?” Jack added.

Dave breathed in quickly, like he’d just thought of something. “You said you were looking for him. Why?”

“Because I thought the Delanceys might be goin’ after him. Seems like those good-for-nothings are always behind it.”

“Behind what?”

“Well, everything. But lately… I don’t know, Dave. He’s been real secretive. He keeps tripping, hurting himself.”

Dave looked nervous when he said, “I’m not sure if he’s the one doing it, Jack.”

“I’m not either,” Jack agreed. “In fact, I’m sure he ain’t. Dammit. That idiot shoulda told me if someone was razzin’ on him, instead of changing his damn spot every day to try to-”

“Jack,” Dave put his hands on his friend’s shoulders. “Let’s just find him, okay? Then you can get onto him as much as you want.”

Jack sighed, nodding quickly. “Yeah, alright. We should go.”

They started off towards Water Street, as a first stop. “Maybe he told the truth,” Dave argued, “in case he knew there would be trouble.” Jack just wanted to find him. He didn’t care where.

When they arrived, they began a more thorough search, looking in alleys and through store windows, but there was no sign of him.

“Dammit,” Jack muttered, taking off his hat to run a hand through his hair. “He’s gotta be around some-”

“Jack!” Dave suddenly shouted. He had kept walking, and was now farther down the street.

“What?” Jack asked. “Did you find him?”

Dave ran into an alley, and then reappeared a moment later, holding a familiar item: a crutch.

“Shit,” Jack breathed, rushing forward and grabbing it out of Dave’s hands. It was undeniably Crutchie’s.

“That’s not all,” Dave said, and Jack looked up for the first time to see the trail of blood leading down the alley.

His breathing stopped. “Oh, hell,” he whispered, glimpses of his nightmares suddenly resurfacing. Crutchie could be dead. He could be bleeding out in some dirty street corner, alone, with his last memory of Jack being what had happened that morning. The thought made him sick.

“We have to find him,” Jack said, frantically, to Dave.

Dave nodded, eyes huge. As they followed the blood through the alley, they came upon Crutchie’s bag of papes, lying behind a trash can. Some of them were strewn around, torn to shreds.

“He’s gotta be close,” Jack said, trying to keep as calm as he could.

“Unless they snatched him,” Dave pointed out.

Jack hadn’t even thought of that, but now his search felt even more frenzied. What if they couldn’t find Crutchie _at all_? “Oh god, Davey…” Jack muttered, feeling like he was losing control. “Davey, what if he’s-”

“We don’t have time to think like that,” Dave said sternly. “Now pick yourself up. We’re going to find-”

They suddenly froze, hearing a sound coming from farther into the maze of alleyways. Their heads swiveled towards the noise, and then an instant later, they darted for it. Turning the corner, they ran straight into one of the worst things Jack had ever seen.

Two boys, their faces immediately familiar but not instantly recognizable, stood over Crutchie, who looked so small and helpless that it made Jack’s chest ache. He was slowly and fumblingly scooting himself back against the wall, one arm held up in surrender. “Please,” he tried. None of them had seen Dave and Jack appear.

“Are you gonna cry?” one of the boys mocked, and then kicked him in the stomach, making him grunt and fall over.

“Crutchie!” Jack yelled, and the two boys turned, shocked at having been found.

When they saw Jack, their expressions immediately changed from malicious to terrified, and without another glance at Crutchie, they fled, running off in the opposite direction. Jack started after them for a few steps, but then stopped when he was in front of Crutchie. The poor boy was shivering on the ground, his limbs laying at awkward angles. Jack dropped down beside him. “Crutchie,” he said, touching the boy’s head, which was turned away. “Are you-”

Crutchie turned to look at him, slowly, and Jack froze. He looked horrible. Half of his face was bruised almost beyond recognition, and his mouth was trailing a line of blood down onto his neck. Not only that, but his clothes were torn and his eyes refused to stay open for more than a second or two. He said nothing, but moved towards Jack like he wanted to be touched. Jack was scared of hurting him, but he managed to position himself so Crutchie’s head was on his lap.

Dave came trotting back after running after the two boys, but he stayed a few feet away from Jack and Crutchie, breathing heavily, his mouth tight with worry. “Is he…?” Dave started.

Jack shook his head. “I don’t know. He’s not talking,” he said.

“Jack, his shirt,” Dave said, pointing.

Jack stopped breathing when he saw that Crutchie’s shirtfront was entirely dark with blood. He reached down instinctively, but then left his hands hovering, unsure. Finally, he pushed away Crutchie’s vest and saw the gash that ran along his stomach, pumping out blood at an alarming rate. “Oh god,” he said. “Dave- Davey, help. _Help_!”

Davey put his hand over his mouth in surprise, and then took a few steadying breaths. “Okay, I’ll- I’ll go get help. I’ll be back!” He ran off the way they’d come, leaving Jack alone with Crutchie.

“Crutchie,” Jack said, fighting the conflicting urges he had to crush him close and keep him far away so he couldn’t hurt him, “don’t pass out on me, okay? Can you hear me? Crutchie, talk to me, please.”

Crutchie blinked a few times, as if his eyelids were heavy and it was a chore to keep them open. “Jack-” he squinted up, looking confused.

“Yeah, it’s me,” Jack said. “I’m here, okay? I got you now.”

“Where did you come from?” Crutchie asked, in a voice that was raspy and unfamiliar.

“Me and Dave was lookin’ for you,” Jack explained. “We found your crutch and all your papes in the alley. Crutchie, why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, then shook his head. It wasn’t the time for demands. He just needed Crutchie to stay awake; it would be impossible to make sure he stayed alive if he fell unconscious.

The weight of that thought hit Jack like a punch. _Stay alive?_ How could it be that he was begging for Crutchie’s life?

“Jack,” Crutchie said, and Jack turned to him immediately.

“What is it, kid?” he asked, moving some hair away from his forehead.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he said, and Jack panicked.

“What?” he asked, holding him closer. “You can’t do what?”

Crutchie took a very large, shuddering breath, and then sobbed out, “Any of it. It’s too much. It’s all too much.”

“Crutchie, no!” Jack said harshly, feeling the tears in his eyes start to fall. “You can’t give up. I can’t do without you, you understand? I can’t.” Crutchie choked on both blood and a sob, and Jack held him even closer, shaking his head. “I’m begging you, Crutchie, don’t die on me. I swear to god; I couldn’t take it.” Crutchie said nothing, and Jack noticed his breathing getting less regular. “Listen,” he said, “just stay awake till Dave comes back, alright? I’ll- I’ll tell you a story.”

Crutchie reached up a bloody hand, and Jack grabbed it in his own, squeezing it. “Alright,” Jack began, “so, this is one from one of those Western dime novels I read sometimes. You know, the ones Race teases me for? Well, I picked it up cause the two guys in it- they reminded me of people I knew. One of ‘em was a real tough guy, you know? He put up a good front, and all the bad guys was scared of him. But the thing was, he had a buddy, his best friend.  They’d pal around together out on the range and stuff, and they never said it or anything, but you knew- you read it and you knew- that the tough guy? He wasn’t nothin’ without him. His friend was everything he couldn’t be, but they fit so well together anyway. His friend didn’t always have everything going for him, and sometimes people looked him over, but he never let it get him down. He was a real champ, you know? One of those guys you just like, no matter what. That’s you, Crutchie. I read it and I thought of us. You’s got everything going for you, even when you don’t, and dammit- dammit if I don’t love you. If I don’t love you so much it hurts.”

Crutchie was still sobbing quietly, and Jack shook his head. “I’m sorry about this morning, alright?” he went on. “I don’t want you to feel like you can’t talk to me. I never meant- I could never- Crutchie, I’ll always be trying to be even half the person you are. I just need you to be safe, alright? I need you to be okay. You’s got so much you give, even when the world don’t do nothing to you but take. I love you. I don’t even expect you to say it back- I just want you to know.”

Crutchie sniffed, and then uttered a soft, painful whimper, his hand going for his stomach. Jack watched him, not knowing what to say. He had no way of knowing what was going to happen. Crutchie might die.

A world without Crutchie- Jack couldn’t even picture it. He didn’t want to.

Then there was the thought that even if Crutchie _was_ fine, what would he be like afterwards? A surge of anger that hadn’t had time to come out yet suddenly burst inside of Jack, and he looked back down the alley where those boys had run off. Why couldn’t they all just leave Crutchie alone? Snyder, the Delanceys, and now this? Jack would take a million beatings if it meant Crutchie would never have to again.

“Jack!” Davey’s voice finally sounded, signaling his return.

“You hear that, Crutch?” he asked. “Dave’s back. You’re gonna be okay. I swear, you are.”

Crutchie’s breathing had slowed even more, but he gave Jack’s hand a tiny squeeze, letting him know that he was still there, and he was still hanging on.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crutchie's alive! And Jack is freaking out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long! I just really needed a break from this thing, tbh. Anyway, I hope this chapter answers some of your questions!

The doctor Davey had found was either too desensitized or too nice to care that Crutchie was staining his bed with blood. He'd made Jack and Davey leave while he did what he could to help Crutchie, but when they'd knocked on the door too many times to count, he finally let them back in the room.

"He'll live," he told them, unsettlingly wiping his hands off on a towel. "The knife slashed right across his stomach." He looked a little sick, and he kept glancing at Jack and Dave, seemingly for an explanation, which they didn't give.

"So..." Jack glanced back at Crutchie, showing every possible sign of nervousness: uneven breaths, dry lips, restlessness.

"Do you know when he'll wake up?" Dave finished.

The doctor sighed, shrugging. "He needs to rest. You're welcome to stay here while he does."

They were so concerned about Crutchie that the doctor's kindness almost went unmentioned, but as he started to leave the room, Jack called out, "hey, thanks Doc."

The doctor turned, and Davey admitted, "we... we can't pay you, upfront." _Or at all._

The doctor barely blinked. "No charge," he said, and finally left the room.

Alone with the sleeping boy on the bed, Dave and Jack glanced at each other, not knowing what to say. It was Jack who finally broke the silence.

"I think I'm gonna kill 'em," he said, and Dave turned a horrified look on him.

"What? Who?"

Jack glared. "The boys who did this. They coulda killed _him_ , Dave. _Crutchie_. Do you understand that?"

"Jack-"

"I thought I recognized them," he said, "but I couldn't figure out where from."

Dave balked, clearly surprised at Jack's lapse. "They were the guys who showed up to sell papes that day."

Jack paused. "When?"

"That day that Crutchie and I got in a fight with those two guys who called him a fake. You jumped in and fought them off, remember?"

Memories of that day flashed back into Jack's mind. "Shit," he mumbled. "Crutchie broke his nose. And then I-" suddenly their terrified expressions when they'd seen him made sense. "They recognized us. That’s why they was targeting him for so long."

"Yeah," Dave agreed. "But a knife wound for a broken nose? That doesn't seem fair, even for them."

Jack was so furious he could hardly think straight. "I don’t fucking know, Dave, but they gotta pay."

Dave held his hands out in warning. "Jack, calm down."

"I ain't gonna just be _calm_ about this," Jack snapped. "You think we should just take this lying down? Look at him!" He pointed to Crutchie, his hand shaking. "Look how close he came to- to..." he trailed off, and Dave sighed, nodding.

"You're right. They can't just get away with it. But, Jack..." He paused, wondering how to move forward with his question. "Is there something I should... well, what I mean is-"

Jack stared at him. "What?"

"You know I don't mean anything by asking, I just- I was wondering if... well, if you and Crutchie are... _together_."

Jack's breathing had gotten faster, and he stepped away from Dave, swiping a hand down over his mouth.

Dave stepped forward. "You can tell me."

Jack didn't move for a minute. "No, I can't," he said, his voice soft and his shoulders tense.

"Why not?"

"Because I promised him I wouldn't," he said, giving Dave his answer. "He thought it would be too dangerous. Maybe he's right."

Dave put his hand on Jack's shoulder, and finally, Jack turned to face him. "Jack,” Dave said, “you're my best friend. I know I might not be yours…” he glanced quickly at Crutchie, a bit of hurt flashing in his eyes, "but I don't want you to think you can't trust me."

Jack took a breath, and then reached up to clasp Dave’s shoulder. Giving it a squeeze, he said, “I know, Dave.” Dave smiled, nodding as he started to move away, but Jack stopped him. “Hey, listen. Crutchie is my best friend, alright? He has been, and he always will be, but now that thing’s is different with us, and now that I got you…” he didn’t really finish the thought, but Dave smirked, understanding.

“It’s different,” he said.

Jack smiled. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Don’t ever think I don’t need you.”

“Oh, I know you need me,” Dave teased. “Everyone knows.”

Jack chuckled, and then Crutchie spoke.

“Jack,” he said, and Jack and Davey were immediately at his bedside. Still blinking away sleep, he was sickly pale, and his hair stuck to his forehead, which was sheer from sweat. His torso was wrapped in a layer of bandages, but the damage done to the rest of him was still clearly visible.

“We’re here,” Jack said, taking Crutchie’s hand.

Crutchie looked down at their intertwined fingers, then nervously up at Dave, who nodded in assurance. “It’s okay,” he said quietly. “I’ve suspected for a long time.”

Crutchie sighed, closing his eyes. “I thought you might.”

Jack essentially ignored the interaction and went straight into questions. “Does it hurt?” he asked, then shook his head. “Sorry. I know it does. I’m not thinkin’.”

“It’s okay,” Crutchie said.

Jack breathed out slowly, shaking his head. “Crutch, what the hell. How could you not tell me they was after you?”

Crutchie swallowed, avoiding Jack’s eyes. “I didn’t want anyone thinkin’-“

“That you couldn’t handle yourself?” Jack prompted. “Shit, Crutchie. No one thinks you can’t!”

“If _anybody_ had trouble with guys like that, we’d tell each other,” Dave said, earning a nod of agreement from Jack. “Nobody would’ve thought any less of you.”

Crutchie shook his head. “This was different.”

“How?” Jack asked, clearly frustrated. “How the hell was it any different? They wanted revenge, and we woulda-”

“They didn’t want revenge,” Crutchie snapped. “They didn’t want anything!”

Jack shared a look with Dave, who shrugged. “What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

Crutchie cursed, then rubbed a tired circle over his eye with the heel of his hand. “They-they _saw._ Me and Jack…” he looked up and met Jack’s eyes, then quickly glanced away. “They saw us together. And they asked around… heard rumors. And they knew. Why _wouldn’t_ they beat me the hell up for it, right? They already hated me. This was just like- like the damn best thing they’d ever heard.”

For a moment, Jack couldn’t breathe. _Your fault,_ his brain said, getting louder the longer he looked at Crutchie’s bruised face. _Your fault._

“Oh, I see.” Dave uttered, his voice soft in the fragile space Crutchie’s words had created.

“It wasn’t so bad at first,” Crutchie said. Jack still hadn’t moved. “I denied it. They let me go. But then-” his voice wavered, and he reached up to brusquely wipe away a stray tear. “They didn’t let up. And I couldn’t tell anyone because… because what if they hated me for it?” He turned to Jack. “And I couldn’t do that to you, either. If I told anyone, I’d have to tell them about you, and-”

“You coulda told _me_ ,” Jack said, harsher than he intended. “You’re sayin’ you couldn’t even tell _me_?”

Crutchie’s lip wobbled. “I was… scared.”

“Of _me_?” Jack felt like his heart was sinking. How could this have gone on without him knowing about it? How was Crutchie so good at hiding in plain sight?

“No, no!” Crutchie hastened. “But if I told you, you might- might not want it _\- this_ \- anymore. If you knew I was getting hurt because of it.”

Jack shook his head. “I just care that you’re getting hurt,” he reminded him- an answer that fell flat because he couldn’t completely shake the feeling that Crutchie’s fears held a hint of truth.

“Well,” Crutchie said, “that’s why I didn’t tell you.”

Jack nodded, reluctantly coming to terms with this.

“Since we know who they are, we can find them,” Dave pointed out. “Soak them like they deserve.”

Crutchie shifted, his eyes suddenly panicked. “No- we can’t do that, Dave.”

Dave raised his eyebrows. “What do you mean? We gotta!”

“No,” Crutchie shook his head, adamantly. “No, don't do anything to them. It'll just make it worse.”

Jack scoffed. “There is no way they is gettin’ away with this, Crutchie, so you can stop right there.”

“Jack, listen to me!” Crutchie pleaded. “They's dangerous. They work for gangs, now. If we go after ‘em, they’ll only come after us, or- or they could tell the police what they know, or they could hurt you.”

“Don’t worry about me-”

“They could go after the other boys,” Crutchie said, looking up at Dave. “You, or even Les, or anyone. And what if Pulitzer found out? You think he’d like that Jack is-”

Jack’s frustrated sigh cut Crutchie off. No, he didn’t think Pulitzer would like very much that his cartoonist, who used to be involved with his daughter, was now secretly involved with one of his newsies. “Dammit,” he groaned, lowering his head into his hands. He needed to think, but nothing was coming to him.

_Think, think!_

If only he was smart, like Davey or Spot. Then he could fix everything, like everyone always expected him to. But then again, Davey wasn’t offering any suggestions, either. After a moment, a touch landed on Jack’s head, and he glanced up to see Crutchie looking down at him, biting his lip, anxious.

“Jack,” he said, “I think we need to talk.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack remembers a night he spent alone.

Jack remembered very clearly the night he’d gone up to the Refuge window, looking for Crutchie. When he tried the first floor, Jack was told that the fucking bastards had put someone new in a room up on the third story, which meant he had to scale the fire escape- all while keeping close to the shadow of the building. Once outside the correct window, he knocked once, softly, but he knew the kids close by would hear. It was only a minute later that a boy showed up at the window and opened it, looking down and seeing Jack, crouching there.

“Oh, hey, Jack!” he said, excitedly. Jack’s stomach dropped when he realized that this kid was probably expecting food, or a blanket, or any of the other essentials Jack sometimes brought.

“Hey,” Jack said, guiltily. “I’m real sorry, but this time I don’t got anything for you.”

“Oh,” the boy’s smile faltered a bit, but he went ahead and asked, “what are you here for, then?”

“I’m here to see my friend,” Jack explained. “His name is Crutchie. He just got brought in today.”

The boy nodded, looking over his shoulder briefly. “Oh yeah, he’s right over there.”

Jack sighed, immediately relieved at the thought of Crutchie being so close. “Great. Could you get him for me?”

“Sure,” the boy responded, closing the window.

Jack nodded to himself, sliding back against the brick wall. He’d rehearsed what he would say on the way over, which felt strange, because nothing he did in front of Crutchie was ever rehearsed or phony. They had no secrets. This situation, however, called for a more delicate approach. Crutchie was an eternal optimist, but Jack had seen the Delanceys hit him right before he got dragged away, and he wasn’t sure how that would affect him. The truth was, Crutchie was usually shielded a bit by the other boys from any foul play, and now, the Delanceys had finally gotten their swing at him. Not only that, but the refuge was no place to nurture a positive attitude. Jack wasn’t sure if Crutchie would still act like his usual optimistic self, even after a few hours in this hell-hole.

The boy showed up again, sliding the window open and putting his face close to the bars. Jack leaned up beside him. “Where’s Crutchie?” he asked.

The boy winced. “He can’t come.”

“What?” Jack panicked. Maybe Crutchie didn’t want to see him. Maybe he blamed Jack for getting thrown in here just as much as Jack blamed himself. “Is he mad? Could you just tell him that I-”

“He’s not mad,” the boy interrupted. “It’s not that. He’s just uh… he’s kinda hurt pretty bad and he can’t make it.”

Jack froze. “He’s hurt too bad to come to the window?” he asked, when he understood.

The boy nodded.

A slew of nightmarish images attacked Jack from all sides, but he managed to ask, swallowing, “Is it his leg?” There had been a few times before when Crutchie’d had a hard time getting out of bed and walking in the morning. Maybe his leg had just started to act up.

“Yeah, but everything else too, I guess,” the boy responded. “He looks real bad, and Harry was gettin’ mad cause his blood was kinda stainin’ the bed.”

Jack shot up, trying to look behind the boy so he could catch a glimpse of Crutchie.

“He’s around the corner,” the boy explained. “You won’t be able to see him.”

Jack cursed, slamming his fist up against the bars. The boy jolted back in surprise.

“What do you mean by hurt?” Jack asked, hurriedly. “How bad do you mean?”

The boy started to look nervous, but Jack needed answers. “He ain’t dead or nothin’,” the boy said. “He just tried to get up and he fell, and his face is real bruised up.”

Jack shook his head, trying to control his thoughts. “Listen, just- just tell him that we’s all thinkin’ about him, alright? And tell him-” he didn’t know what to say next. There were so many things he wanted to say to Crutchie in that moment that it was overwhelming. “Tell him Specs will be by tomorrow, in case he’s feeling better, and that I-”

The boy was starting to look at him funny, and a little impatiently, so Jack reluctantly wrapped it up. “I ain’t gonna sleep on the rooftop till he comes back, cause it ain’t the same without him. Can you tell him that?”

The boy nodded, though Jack wondered how much of the message would get across. The same pining feeling from before had completely returned, now that he knew Crutchie was so close, and yet still unreachable.

“Yeah, I got it, Jack,” the boy said. “And hey, do you think…” he shrugged, as if it wasn’t important, “do you think you could send Specs with an extra blanket tomorrow? My bunkmate keeps stealin’ mine.”

Jack nodded. “Yeah, sure kid.”

“Okay, great,” the boy said, smiling again. “Thanks, Jack.”

He was about to close the window when he suddenly popped his head back out and said, “oh, and Jack?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll try and keep an eye on your friend for you, if that would help.”

Jack’s heart swelled, cracking as it expanded. “That would help. Thanks.”

“Sure,” the boy said, and then left. Jack sat there for a few minutes more, trying and then not trying to picture what Crutchie looked like, only a few feet away.

 _Blood was staining the bed…_ He couldn’t get the words out of his mind. It was just as painful as Crutchie’s call for help at the strike- that “ _Jack!_ ” that left him in shambles every time he thought about it. Finally, fear of being caught overtook him, and he started for home. Every step that took him farther away from Crutchie felt like a betrayal, but what was he supposed to do? Even if he could’ve escaped with him, Crutchie wouldn’t have been able to walk all this way.

_He couldn’t even come to the window…_

Jack couldn’t help but think about what the refuge would do to him. Would any of those lowlifes running the joint care that they’d brought in a kid who couldn’t even walk? Would they let him rest? Jack knew that the answer to those questions was _no._ Of course they wouldn’t care. No one was going to help him.

When he returned to the lodging house, he saw the boys inside, waiting for him, and took a deep breath before walking in. When he entered, they all looked up dismally, but expectantly, too.

“Where’s Crutchie?” Mush asked. “Couldn’t get him out?”

“No,” Jack shook his head.

Finch cursed. “Why was no one lookin’ out for him?” he asked the group.

“I was trying not to get my face busted in, Finch,” Race snapped. “A lot of us were.”

“Well now Crutchie’s gone because of it!” Romeo shot back. “And your face is just as ugly as before!”

Arguing broke out amongst them, and Specs came over and put his hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Hey,” he said. “How is he?”

Jack shook his head. “Not good, Specs.”

“Was he hurt?”

“He couldn’t even come to the window to see me,” Jack said, and Specs’ eyebrows shot up. “I gave him a message that you’d go see him tomorrow. Do you think you could do that?”

“Yeah,” Specs nodded adamantly. “Of course I can. But-”

“But what?”

“But… you don’t want to?”

Jack needed to leave before he cried in front of anyone. He started for the stairs. “I don’t know if I can.”

There was a slight breeze up on the rooftop, and he took his hat off so it could rustle through his hair. He’d looked out over this same skyline more times than he could count, but now, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Crutchie should be beside him, telling him a story or listening as Jack recounted one of his own. Or maybe they’d talk about their day- the people they’d sold to, the weather… anything. But Crutchie wasn’t here, and they hadn’t even sold any papes- all because of Jack’s stupid plan. Thinking that Santa Fe needed to be his goal more than ever, Jack spent a few more minutes outside before retiring downstairs.

Jack couldn’t sleep. Inside for the first time in a while, he felt claustrophobic, and while everyone snored, he crept back up to the rooftop. It didn’t take him long to realize that he wanted to be sleeping where Crutchie normally slept. He curled up in that spot and tried to imagine that it connected them, somehow, even though Crutchie would never know.

Jack remembered his promise that he’d stay off the roof until Crutchie got back, but he’d made it before realizing that he wasn’t going to be able to sleep anywhere else. It wasn’t the same without Crutchie- that was true- but neither was the room in the lodging house. Neither was _anything._ He might as well be in the place he knew Crutchie would be too, if he could.

 _“Would I let you down?”_ he remembered asking him, as if it was impossible. At the time, he thought it was. Exhausted and trying to clear his mind, Jack finally went to sleep in Crutchie’s spot on the roof, dreaming of Santa Fe and the boy who might never see it.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crutchie and Jack discuss their future.

“I think we need to talk.”

Crutchie almost regretted his choice of words as soon as he saw Jack’s face fall.

There was silence for a moment while Jack adjusted himself on the edge of the bed, and while Dave’s eyes widened as he looked between them. Finally, in a quiet voice that was trying to be brave, Jack said, “I thought we were already doing that.”

“Jack,” Crutchie said. There was an edge to his tone that prompted Davey to say,

“It’s getting late. I’m going to go tell the boys where you are, Crutchie.”

Crutchie tried to smile at him, but of course Davey saw through it. Jack barely looked up as Davey left.

When it was just the two of them again, more silence stretched on as Crutchie tried to figure out what to say. Jack’s eyes had wandered down to Crutchie’s bandaged torso and continued to stare until Crutchie spoke.

“Jack,” he said, making him look up.

He spoke before Crutchie got the chance. “Crutchie, listen,” he hurried, looking desperate. “There was some things you said back in the alley that scared the hell out of me, and I just- I don’t think we should leave them alone.”

Crutchie blinked. “Which parts are you talkin’ about?”

Jack sat forward, adamantly. “The parts where you said you didn’t want to keep going. When you said it was too much.”

Something strange washed over Crutchie as he heard his own words spoken back to him. He didn’t know if he still believed them or not. Surely the despair he’d felt out in the alley, when he wasn’t sure if he’d live or die, was lessened now that he was fully awake, and in a bed, and, for the moment, out of danger. But there would always be fear. He hadn’t been able to escape it for months, and even before the refuge, he had been fighting off the role of _victim_ for years. And now it was even worse; now Jack was in danger, too. In that moment, Crutchie had been hopeless enough to wish for death, but now... no, that wasn't what he wanted. 

“I wasn’t lying,” Crutchie admitted. Jack wasn't going to let it go if he didn't get a real answer. “I’ve been trying real hard not to let anything get to me, but it does, anyway. And when I was out there in the alley, and- and I didn't know you was comin’…”  Feeling his eyes start to burn again, he squeezed them closed.

Jack grabbed Crutchie’s hand, but Crutchie’s eyes flashed open as he immediately pulled it back. Swallowing, Jack looked down, his rejected hand closing in a fist in his lap.

“Jack, listen,” Crutchie breathed, his chest aching at having to do that, "we can’t keep this up.”

Jack was already shaking his head when Crutchie stopped speaking. “No, you don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No.”

“Jack, please,” Crutchie tearfully begged. “Don’t make this any harder.”

“Crutchie,” Jack insisted, “I know you’re scared, but we can-”

“Jack-”

“-get through this-”

“I thought I was gonna _die_ , Jack!” Crutchie burst.

Silence.

Abruptly, Jack stood and walked to the end of the bed, his back turned.

Crutchie went on. “How can we keep going on like this when everyone- the whole world- hates us for it?”

Still, Jack said nothing.

“And it would be one thing if it was just me,” Crutchie said. “But- but _Jack,_ people know about you, too. And if they know about you, they could- they could-”

Finally, Jack swiveled around. “Let’s go,” he said.

Crutchie paused. “What?”

Jack moved back to the side of the bed. “Let’s go, Crutchie. Let’s do it- like we always said we would.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Santa Fe, kid,” Jack said. “We could do it, together.” His expression was expectant, hopeful; the realization of his greatest dream written all over his face.

“You want to just… leave?” Crutchie asked.

“Crutch, it’s _me_.”

“But what about the newsies? Your job with the paper…?”

“It’s because of that job that I’ve got enough money saved for us to get on the first train out of here.”

The seriousness of what Jack was suggesting conflicted with how eager Crutchie was beginning to feel. “Jack, this is crazy,” he said.

“Why is it so crazy?” Jack asked. “There ain’t nothin’ stopping us.”

“What if Santa Fe is worse than New York?” Crutchie pointed out. “What then?”

“There ain’t nothin’ stopping us from coming back, either.”

“Money,” Crutchie muttered.

“We can always make more of that,” Jack said, brushing that worry aside like it was nothing.

Crutchie was running out of things to say, and he wasn’t sure if it was because he still felt like death, or because he wanted Jack to be right. “But- but what about the others? Davey, and Race, and Specs, and…”

Jack’s face fell a little as each name was spoken, but he shook his head. “In a few years, we’s all gonna go our different ways anyhow. Davey’s too smart to hang around us much longer, and Race… well, who the hell knows what he’ll be doing?”

Crutchie chuckled as he thought about it, which made Jack smile.

“My point is, Crutch, if I gotta pick between them and you, I’m gonna pick you. And I ain’t just gonna let people hurt you _and_ take you away from me. So, if you’re going somewhere, I’m going with you.”

Crutchie looked at Jack and remembered how, not that long ago, the thought of Jack talking to him like this would’ve been something restricted to his daydreams. But Jack really did love him back, and he was proving it now. “I’ve always wanted to see your face when you finally get to Santa Fe,” Crutchie revealed.

Jack’s smile slowly rose as he realized what Crutchie was saying. “So you’re serious, then?” he asked. “You really wanna do this with me?”

“I wanna do everything with you,” Crutchie said. “New York, Santa Fe… you name it. I’d follow you forever, Jack Kelly.”

Jack sat back down on the edge of the bed and grabbed Crutchie’s hands. This time, Crutchie let him. “We’s family,” Jack said. “And I ain’t never gonna let anyone else change that.”

He was so beautiful, smiling down at Crutchie with the wistful expression of a dreamer who was starting to come alive. His hands were familiar and warm against Crutchie's- which still shook, inexplicably. Crutchie glanced down at their hands, and then back up at Jack's face, and muttered, "Dammit, Jack." Tears that had started to retreat came back again in full force.

Jack leaned forward, and moved his hands to instead cup Crutchie’s face, thumbs brushing at his cheeks. “Hey, hey,” Jack hushed, “what’s the matter?”

The question was almost funny, considering that Crutchie was bed-ridden, but he shrugged. “I’m thinkin’ about lots of things,” he said, and all those things swam through Crutchie’s head at once, but the one that wouldn’t be ignored was:

_Jack really loves me._

Crutchie might’ve been bleeding out, but he’d heard Jack’s voice in the alley, saying, “ _Dammit if I don’t love you. If I don’t love you so much it hurts.”_

That’s what Crutchie was feeling right now- something so great inside of him that it threatened to tear him apart. But it was different than how he’d felt before, back when he’d loved Jack from afar. If it was even possible, it had grown stronger.

“Hey,” Jack said, his voice like a welcoming sigh, his face- the familiar lines around his eyes, the soft curve of that reluctant smile- like a kept promise, “you’re gonna be okay, alright? We’s gonna be okay, cause we’s gonna be together.”

Crutchie smiled. “Always, right?”

Jack nodded. “Right. Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This wasn't the last chapter, but I will say that this fic is soon to come to a close. Thanks for still reading!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Crutchie board a train to Santa Fe.

Jack took his seat next to Crutchie on the train, and was greeted by Crutchie’s hand snatching hold of his and squeezing tight.

“You okay?” Jack asked.

Crutchie nodded, staring out the window as New York started to disappear. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said.

He still had ghosts of his old bruises, and there was a tiny scar on his cheekbone that Jack’s eyes seemed to always find.

“I think… I think they'll be fine, too,” Jack said, talking about the newsies who they’d left behind at the station.

They'd all come out to wish them off, and then Race had presented them with a collection they'd taken up. Pocket change that, all together, amounted to a couple of dollars to help them out. That's when Jack had had to make the effort not to cry. Money wasn't given out lightly; it came from days of hard work. The gesture was enormous, but they hadn't let them refuse it.

“Jack,” Davey had said. “It's important to us that you have this.”

“Yeah,” Specs had chimed in. “Cause maybe if you got something from us… it's like we’s comin’ with you.”

Crutchie had thrown his arms around Specs and hugged him for a minute after that. Jack swore Race was tearing up, but he didn't call him on it.

“You _is_ with us,” Jack told them. “Don't think for one minute that family forgets about each other.”

Everyone was quiet for a moment, and then Race came through the crowd and clapped his hands on Crutchie and Jack’s shoulders. “Alright, you two. You better get outta here, or you'll miss the train and this will be real embarrassing.”

They chuckled, glad to dispel the solemnity, and started for the train.

Jack was about to step on after Crutchie, when Davey grabbed his sleeve. “Jack, wait,” he said.

Jack turned, and before he knew it he was trapped inside of Davey’s arms, getting squeezed like Davey was trying to kill him before he could leave.

“Dave-”

“Make sure you write, okay? Send us some pictures of Santa Fe.”

Jack smiled, and gave Davey a squeeze back. “Sure, Dave,” he said. “’Course I will.”

They pulled back and Davey said, “oh and Jack, here.” He handed Jack a wallet that he’d fished out of his pocket. “This is from Katherine.”

“Katherine?” Jack asked.

Davey nodded. “She wanted to make sure that you were covered.”

Jack could be sure it was a significant amount of money even without opening it. He sighed, shaking his head fondly. He’d have to write her once they arrived. Looking back up at Davey, he said, “take care of that family of yours.”

Davey smiled. “They're your family, too, Jack. If you ever decide to come back, you're welcome to.”

Jack had chuckled, looking back at Crutchie. “Yeah, I know,” he said. “But we’re gonna try a little adventure, first.”

Now, sitting in the train car, Crutchie planted a kiss on Jack’s cheek. “You know,” he said, “I think you're right. I think they'll be fine.”

“Yeah,” Jack nodded. “And so will we.”

Crutchie’s smile made Jack even more sure of that statement. How could anything be bad, when he was given smiles like that? Smiles that were all for him?

“So are we,” Crutchie agreed, as the train took them ever closer to Santa Fe.


	16. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sprace 5ever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, guys! It's been a lot of fun, and I really appreciate all the kudos and comments! You're all so amazing.

“Well?” Spot asked as Race came into the room.

Race shrugged off his coat and set it over the back of a chair. “They're gone.”

Spot watched Race stand there, sighing at the floor. “Race… you ain't cryin’, are you?”

Race looked up and scowled, eyes obviously wet. “No! ‘Course not,” he lied, sniffing. “If they wanna go, that's their business, and I ain't got any say in it.”

“I know, but it sure seems like you woulda liked some.”

Race crossed his arms. “I don't care.”

Spot stood from his spot on the couch and slowly walked over to him. “Listen…” he said, not really sure how to comfort him, “they’s gonna be alright. I mean, probably. Sure, there's snakes and buffalo and coyotes and guns and probably quicksand, but Jackie boy’s always wanted to go.”

Race rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but what the hell is gonna happen to Crutch-”

Quickly, he stopped himself and huffed a few feet away, but Spot wasn't about to let him get away with it. “What about Crutchie?” Spot prompted. “Is that what you was gonna say? Hell, sure seems like you care at least a little bit, Race.”

“Alright, fine!” Race threw up his hands. “Maybe I care a little bit. But it's just cause- well… cause they're my…”

“You know, I'm no genius, but could it be that you's searchin’ for the word _friends_?”

Race glared at Spot for a minute, then conceded, sighing the tension out of his shoulders. “Yeah,” he admitted. “But more than that. More like brothers.”

Spot’s chest panged at the despondent look on Race’s face, and he went to him, holding his arms. “Hey, listen here, okay? I think maybe they think the same about you, ya know? Actually, I don't think. I _know._ When I told them that you'd been kidnapped, they couldn't keep their shirts on. They was scared, Race, and it's cause you’s important to them.”

“Then why are they going, huh?” Race demanded, sniffling again.

“That's their business,” Spot said. “They don't gotta stay here in order to be friends with you.”

Race was quiet for a long time, looking thoughtfully at anything but Spot’s face. Finally, he spoke. “I didn’t tell you, yet, but I'm kinda… I'm kinda like the new Jack, now.”

Spot’s mouth turned up at the corners. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Race said, with a small smile of his own. “It was kinda implied, anyway, but Jack talked to me for a long time before they got on the train. He took me up to the rooftop and everything.”

“See? What’d I tell ya?” Spot asked, clapping a hand on Race’s shoulder. “And you know what? With us workin’ together, who knows what we could do?”

Race chuckled. “I'm just sellin’ papes, Spot. You're the mastermind.”

“Yeah,” Spot shrugged, half-joking, “but you’s with me. And that makes us somethin’ to be reckoned with.”

Race smiled and planted a kiss on Spot’s lips. “You got a lot of ambition for someone so small,” he teased.

Spot shoved him playfully. “You idiot. And I was just about to say somethin’ real good.”

“Oh yeah?” Race laughed. “What would that be?”

Spot took a breath before answering. “Well, with us bein’ so close, and leadin’ the newsies and all, I figure things might… _change_ for us, someday.”

“Change?” Race asked, suddenly concerned. “What do you mean?”

“Nothin’ bad, Race,” Spot assured him. “I'm talkin’ about people maybe knowing about us. Eventually.”

Race’s eyes widened. “What?”

“Don't lose your marbles, Race. I'm just projectin’ a couple months… maybe a couple years. Who knows?”

“What's gotten into you?” Race asked, wondering what happened to the old Spot, who had freely admitted to being scared  of getting found out.

“Nothin’!” Spot insisted, but after a long look from Race, he sighed happily and rested his head on Race’s shoulder. “I don't know. I guess it just seems like anything could happen, when I got you.”

Race cursed quietly, almost annoyed at how irresistible Spot was making himself. “Yeah,” he said, wrapping his arms around Spot, “I feel that way, too.”


End file.
